


Passing Ships

by quiettewandering



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcoholic John, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst with a Happy Ending, Cupid Castiel (Supernatural), Elementary Teacher Dean, Hurt Castiel, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-25
Updated: 2017-07-17
Packaged: 2018-09-26 01:09:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 77,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9855389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quiettewandering/pseuds/quiettewandering
Summary: When Castiel commits a crime unforgivable, he is demoted from distinguished guardian angel to the role of cupid. His assignment: to pair Dean Winchester and Lisa Braeden together as soulmates. Adamantly against the idea, Dean proves to be a challenging assignment for Castiel - especially when he falls in love with him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story took a village. Many thanks to Shannon B., Shannon K., Lexi, and Lee who were my personal cheerleaders/betas. I couldn't have done it without you. 
> 
> Note that this is not the Supernatural universe, so the function of angels and heaven are a little different. Humans know that angels exist and encounter them daily (as guardian angels, cupids, or the occasional warrior if need be), and the notion of soulmates has been around forever - Heaven invented the whole idea. This will be explained further, but just remember that as this is not the Supernatural 'verse, how angels and humans interact will be different.
> 
> (also please keep in mind that while yes there is a Lisa/Dean pairing, Dean/Cas like all my fics is endgame and there will not be much focus on Dean and Lisa's 'relationship' - if at all)

* * *

 

 

"Ships that pass in the night, and speak each other in passing, only a signal shown, and a distant voice in the darkness; So on the ocean of life, we pass and speak one another, only a look and a voice, then darkness again and a silence."

-Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 

 

* * *

 

“Demoted?”

The word echoes through the hall as Castiel feels it heavy on his tongue.

“Yes, Castiel,” Michael sighs, fingers rubbing his temple. “You’re demoted, effective immediately. After the stunt you pulled, this is merciful.”

Just minutes earlier, Castiel was sitting in the hallway with a straight spine and firmly clasped hands on his lap, mentally preparing himself for punishment. He was expecting imprisonment, a flogging, maybe even _death_ in the extreme circumstance—but, a demotion? He feels surprise momentarily unbalance him. His tongue flickers over his dry lips. “Sir, I don’t—“ he begins.

“Listen, Castiel,” Naomi purrs from the other end of the gilded table, hands resting on the tabletop in front of her well-pressed suit. “If we had it our way, your grace would be going through a garbage disposal and you’d be behind bars for the rest of eternity. But it seems someone in a higher power wants to give you a second chance. I wouldn’t argue with this if I were you.”

Castiel can feel his nails pinching the flesh of his palms as his clasped hands squeeze together. “Demoted to what?” he asks.

Naomi’s smile is putrid. “Demoted to Cupid.”

Castiel’s head spins and he barely listens to the rest of the conversation. When he is finally dismissed from the meeting, the towering double doors are nearly snapped off their hinges as he makes a hasty exit.

Anna, who was sitting on a bench across from the doors, immediately jogs after him. “What happened?” she asks, dodging groups of angels that Castiel chooses to barrel through as he strides down the hall.  

“Well, I’m free, aren’t I?” he says bitterly.

“Yes, I can see that, but _how_? I thought Naomi would have kicked you into a broom closet and locked it by now.”

Castiel sighs and stops at a marble pillar, regarding the flecks of white and gray in the texture. “Naomi and Michael demoted me.”

“To what?”

“Cupid.”

“Oh. Shit.”

“And I have an assignment,” Castiel continues, withdrawing a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket and displaying Michael’s elegant cursive.

Anna squints at the lettering. “’Lisa Braeden,’” she reads, “’failed soulmate connection with Dean Winchester.’” She stares at Castiel incredulously. “You have to be a _matchmaker_?”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Castiel huffs out, “They called it my ‘last chance’. If I fail, it shows how useless I’ve become to them.”

“As in, you fail and _that’s_ when they shove you into the broom closet?”

“I can only assume.” He shakes his head, the murmured conversation of angels milling around them giving him a sudden headache. “I used to be a guardian angel and it was my job to _protect_ people—not manage their love lives.”

Anna lays a comforting hand on his shoulder. “You’re lucky they didn’t do anything worse after… well, after what you did.”

“What I did was my job. I don’t regret it.”

“I’m not saying what you did was wrong. You just broke a lot of angelic laws to get there. And that pisses angels with a stick up their butt off. Like Naomi, for example,” Anna grins, lightly punching him in the shoulder. “This is actually a nice change from you strictly following the rules. Was beginning to think that my rebellious friend Castiel had left for good.”

Castiel feels a ghost of a smile tug at his lips as he looks down at his red-headed friend. Anna is the only other guardian angel to stick by Castiel in this demotion mess. It is because she, like Castiel, knows what it is like to be fiercely protective of her human charge. Like Castiel, Anna has broken rules to defend the people she is assigned to.

“I am not sure I can do this, Anna,” Castiel admits softly.

“You’ll be fine, okay? I’ll make sure of it.” Anna’s face brightens into a smile. “Besides, it won’t be so bad,” she says, tapping the piece of paper in Castiel’s hand. “Lisa’s address is just across town from where my Charlie lives! We’ll probably bump into each other.”

“ _Your_ Charlie?”

“Hey, I’ve been protecting her since she was a toddler; I’ve got the right to call her mine.”

Castiel offers a small smile, his heart twisting, and nods. “I understand.”

“Oh,” Anna puts her hands over her face and groans softly, “yeah, you would understand that. I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

Castiel tampers down the thick feeling rising in his chest. He waves a hand to brush it off. “It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not fine. I need to remember not to stick my foot in it.” She worries her bottom lip between her teeth. “So, have you seen Claire at all?”

He looks at the ground. Says softly, “No.”

“Oh, Cas….” Anna seems to want to offer more conciliation, but is interrupted when a pair of tall dark-haired angels in suits approach them.

“Castiel, we’re under orders to take you to the extraction room,” one of them, who Castiel doesn’t recognize, explains.

Anna walks closer to them, standing straighter and resting her fists on her hips. “So, Gadreel, they’ve got you on muscle duty now, huh?” she mocks.

Gadreel looks at her steadily. “I go where I’m needed.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you do,” Anna says with narrowed eyes.

The angel beside Gadreel sneers. “Time to go, Cupid. Demotion in status means a demotion in grace.”

The thick feeling in Castiel’s chest seems to rise further up to his throat. He hears Anna whisper, “It’ll be okay, Cas,” before he begins to follow the pair down the sidewalk.

He feels her eyes on his back, watching him go.

 

* * *

 

It’s a day after his grace was extracted (in a room with rusted walls, with Naomi sneering over him as a needle extracted his grace to almost nothing, making his skin burn) and he’s been on Earth’s surface for twelve point five hours.

He was given a notebook before he left Heaven. It’s plain, brown, and nine by six centimeters. The ruling on the pages is too wide, and dwarves Castiel’s precise cursive script. The purpose of this notebook, he was told, is to observe and collect every detail from his assigned case.

Now, sitting on a bench in a nondescript park in the middle of Lawrence, Kansas, the unopened notebook is on his lap, clutched between his hands. His toes are frigid from the wind drifting across his thin sneakers, his cheeks pinched.

There was a time, before his grace was depleted to a withering flame, that he could sit in negative thirty degree wind-chill and feel nothing. Now he’s wearing a flimsy windbreaker that barely encases his torso and shivering from the Midwest September chill.

Castiel regards his jeans and beat-up sneakers with a disapproving frown. Street clothes, Naomi said, is the more appropriate uniform for an angel of his current stature. It’s a far cry from his suit and tie that he wore as a guardian angel. He used to be someone important.

He used to be needed.

Flipping open the front cover of the notebook, Castiel uncaps his pen and begins to write about his first contact meeting with Lisa Braeden.

_This morning, at 0900 hours, I found Lisa Braeden in a bookstore on Main Street. She was shopping after her yoga class. She was not happy to see me. I don’t blame her._

Castiel lifts his head to blink at the low autumn sun and sighs. He scratches out the last sentence.

_Her apprehension toward my help, or having angelic intervention at all, is because she claims the failed soulmate connection isn’t her fault. She says she made every attempt to initiate contact with Dean Winchester, but once he knew she was his soulmate, he immediately broke all ties with her. She claims that he is the problem._

Although his hearing is now disappointingly human, he can hear a child’s laughter being carried by the wind. On the park’s playground, Castiel can see a mother and her child are playing hide-and-seek around the windy tube of a slide. Castiel smiles at the scene.

_Lisa seems, by all circumstances, normal. She’s a nurse and a part-time yoga instructor. She has an apartment to herself and a small dog that kept chewing on my pant leg for the duration of our meeting in the bookstore. She finally agreed to set up a ‘date’ of sorts with Dean tomorrow so that I can observe them. I told her that if there is angelic intervention involved, he will probably take the situation seriously, and agree to the date._

The girl runs away from her mother, giggling, and throws herself onto a swing on her stomach, laughing harder as she begins to pump her legs, carrying her higher into the air.

Although he doesn’t write it, Castiel thinks, _I think Lisa simply agreed to the date because she wanted me stop talking and leave her alone._

The girl’s mother has caught up to her and begins pushing her on the swing, the girl’s arms opening on either side of her like a bird’s, her whole face broken in a wide, laughing smile.

 _I used to be important,_ his thoughts continue to echo.

He frowns at the girl whipping back and forth on the swing, blonde hair scattering in the wind.

_I used to be wanted by somebody._

When the memory hits him like a freight train, he blames the fact that his grace isn’t there to stifle his emotions. All too suddenly the mother and daughter in front of him disappear and is replaced by him, trench coat rippling around his body in the wind, and Claire at three years old, frantically pumping her legs to go higher on the swing.

“Want to go higher!” she had declared, glaring at Castiel like he was the most useless object in the world.

“I don’t understand what is fun about this activity,” Castiel announced, hands shoved in his pockets.

“To _fly_!” Claire shrieked, commencing to frantically kick and almost knock herself off the swing.

Sighing, Castiel stood behind her and gave her a gentle push. It immediately earned him a delighted peal of laughter.

“Higher, Cee Cee!” she giggled (she couldn’t pronounce his full name until she was four-and-a-half).

His heart had nearly stopped when she shrieked, “Flying!” and launched herself off the swing at the highest point in the air. He reached out with his grace and caught her before she tumbled into the woodchips covering the playground, gently setting her onto her feet.

She ran toward him, her laughter bouncing with the light-up dinosaur sneakers in each step. She leapt up and hugged his waist, her legs wrapping around his.

“I love you, Cee Cee,” she murmured into his pant leg.

His face broke into a genuine, bright smile. He glanced down at her, putting a hand on top of her silky blonde hair. “Thank you, Claire,” he whispered.

Castiel is jolted to the present when the pages of his notebook flutter dangerously in the wind. He blinks, seeing the mother and daughter retreating in the distance, their hands linked.

He sharply sniffs, stands, and goes to wait for his meeting with Dean and Lisa elsewhere.

 

* * *

  

Castiel and Lisa arrange to meet at a bar that is dimly lit and smells of smoke. The floor sticks to the bottom of Castiel’s shoe with every step he takes. He sees Lisa at a round table in the back corner, her hands clutched tightly around a tall glass filled with obnoxious pink liquid. She has a yellow dress on; her hair is in a messy ponytail.

Castiel says his thoughts when he reaches her table. “You look suitable for this date.”

Lisa’s head whips up to meet his gaze. The tension bleeds from her shoulders once she recognizes him. “Oh, it’s you,” she huffs a laugh. “Thank God, you’re not another idiot trying to hit on me.” Her eyes follow him as he sits in a chair across from her. “Although that would be the weirdest pickup line I’ve ever heard.”

“No sign of Dean?” Castiel asks, carefully skirting past her insult.

Lisa rolls her eyes. “Oh, please. He won’t even show up. This whole thing is a waste of time.”

“But when you spoke to him over the phone he agreed to meet with us, correct?”  

“Yeah, to get me to stop asking, probably.” Lisa crosses her arms over her chest and looks toward the bar’s entrance. “I’m positive that I saw the last of Dean Winchester _weeks_ ago.”

There’s a loose chip of wood in the grain of the tabletop; Castiel hooks his thumbnail underneath and picks at it. “You never told me what happened at your last meeting.”

Lisa sighs, “Well it’s all your guys’ fault—you and your cupid bosses, or whatever. You know those letters you send out when the soulmate connection isn’t established successfully?”

Castiel is new to the cupid position, but he’s aware of the soulmate letters. If soulmates haven’t connected in eight years or more since the time they both get their matching numbered tattoos, Heaven sends out the contact information of their soulmate.

Castiel nods in affirmation. “I know about the letters.”

“Well, I opened mine, because I _care_. It told me who he was and where to find him. When I went to his regular bar to meet him, we got along at first. I just wanted to meet him and figure out why he never contacted or tried to find me, you know?” She takes a sip of her pink drink. “And he was nice enough to me, when he didn’t know we were soulmates. But once I told him why I was there, and showed him the tattoo on my ankle, exactly where his tattoo also is…” she waves a hand, “he got pissed and left. Even though we were connecting, and it was clear that we’re compatible.”

“That’s unfortunate.” Castiel is intently focused on the chip of wood beneath his nail, trying to pry it completely off the table. Since it’s his job to shove Lisa and her stubborn soulmate together, he asks, “And he gave no indication as to why he didn’t want you as a soulmate?”

“Of course he did. He bared his soul to me, because Dean Winchester is the most emotionally mature man I’ve ever met.”

Castiel raises his head, finally, and frowns at her shuttered expression. “You’re joking,” he observes.

Another eye roll. “Obviously.”

It’s quiet between them; the bar buzzes around them, plates clattering in the back kitchen, a football game serving as white noise on the TV. Castiel has almost gotten the chip of wood off the table when Lisa kicks him under the table with her foot.

“Oh my _God—_ there’s Dean.”

Castiel follows her outstretched finger, pointing toward the door. Who he sees is completely different from the person he had been expecting.

When someone rejects their soulmate, they are either a sociopath or clinically insane. Castiel expected a man with a twisted soul, or one that could barely function at all; but instead he sees a soul so bright, that even with his depleted grace, it causes him to squint.

When the brightness fades, he sees a dirty-blonde haired man with a sour glare walking toward their table. Castiel follows his leather jacket swerving through the maze of people. His shoulders are already tense, as if expecting a fight.

 “Hi, Lisa,” Dean says, darkly, when he’s standing in front of their table.

“Hi.” She juts her chin toward Castiel. “That’s Castiel. He’s our cupid.”

Dean stares at her. Then at Castiel. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

She points a finger in his face. “Hey, _you_ made it come to this!”

Castiel stands and offers his hand. “I’m Castiel. It’s nice to meet you, Dean.”

Dean Winchester glares at his hand as if it offends him, then snarling, “I need a drink.” He turns on his heel and stalks toward the bar.

“As charming as the day I met him,” Lisa scoffs. She stands, scooping her purse up from the spare chair. “I told you that this was a mistake. I’m leaving.”

Castiel catches her arm. “Wait.” He picks up her glass, gestures for her to sit. “I’ll go talk to him. And I will also get you another… pink drink.”

He finds Dean hunched over the bar, resting on his elbows, hands clasped. When Castiel stands beside him, Dean’s green eyes narrow and practically burrow a hole in Castiel’s forehead.

“What, you gonna scare me by throwing some heavenly law bullshit at me?” he bites.

Castiel regards Dean’s closed-off expression. He’s known Dean for a whole of two minutes and already he can tell he’s the most stubborn man alive. “The opposite,” Castiel says, eyeing Lisa’s half-finished drink, “I told Lisa I would order her another drink, but I can’t tell what it is.”

With a wary glare, Dean snatches the glass from Castiel’s hand and sniffs into it. “Vodka. And something with raspberry.” He jabs his finger at the laminated drink menu lying in front of him. “Probably this razzle-dazzle-whatever bullshit.”

Castiel nods. “Thank you, Dean.”

Ignoring him, Dean orders a whiskey (neat, he instructs the bartender) and shoves himself off the countertop when it arrives, leaving Castiel behind.

When Castiel places Lisa’s newly refilled drink on the table, he sees that the conversation has gone nowhere without him. Dean is contemplating his drink like it’s a fascinating math equation; Lisa’s eyes are permanently glued to the ceiling as she taps her manicured fingernails against the tabletop. Castiel feels a millennium older.

He sits at the table, hands folded in front of him. “I have a job to do,” he informs the sullen couple, “and that job is to bond you two together as soulmates. And we are not leaving this bar until we figure out a solution.”

Dean props the heels of his feet onto the tabletop, tipping back his chair. He grins at Castiel, all teeth and no humor. “Really? What are you gonna do, glue us to the chair so we can’t leave?”

“Since it’s within my power to do so, I am not averse to the idea.”

Lisa throws up her hands. “Why is it so important that we bond at all? It’s a waste of time to try to get that idiot,” she gestures to Dean, who gives her a sarcastic raise of his glass, “to see reason and even _try_ to get to know me.”

Dean’s feet clatter to the ground and he leans forward. “Sweetheart, I don’t care who you are or where you came from. This whole soulmate thing? It’s _bullshit_.”

Around the age of fifteen, Claire formed a habit of watching Dr. Phil when she came home from school. She loved to make fun of the guests on the show while the bald man tried to mediate the arguing couples. Castiel himself used to huff a chuckle or two at the truly hopeless cases. He now feels a strong kindred spirit with the bald man on that show. Castiel pinches the bridge of his nose. “Why do you feel that way about soulmates, Dean?” he asks flatly.

“It’s crap to think that there’s one person out there for you, based on a goddamn tattoo, and that just because there’s a person chosen for you in the first place, that you should automatically be with that person.”

“How do you _know_ you don’t want to be with that person if you don’t even give it a chance?” Lisa shoots back.

“Oh, trust me, I know.”

“You’re such a _dick_!”

Castiel rubs his temples between his thumb and middle finger with one hand, the other waving in the air to get their attention. “Enough.” He looks between them. “Clearly this will not get solved in a night. But like I said, this is my job. I’m not giving up just because you _children_ can’t look past your differences to get to know each other.” He eyes Dean intentionally at these last words.

Dean crosses his arms, leather jacket creaking from the movement. “Looks like you ain’t so good at your job.”

Castiel glares at him. “When I am armed with a task, I never fail.”

There is a tense electricity in their shared glares as they stare each other down.

Lisa coughs, quietly, to get their attention. “Look, Castiel, it’s great that you’re trying to help but… I think this is a dead end.”

“Finally, something we agree on,” Dean chimes in, not breaking Castiel’s gaze.

Castiel nods. Rises to his feet. “We’ll pick this up again next week.”

Both Lisa and Dean protest, “What?”

He adjusts his sweatshirt (a drastic change from his usual suit) and gives them both a nod. “I’ll be contacting you about our next meeting. Until then, I hope that you can stay and talk a few things out amongst yourselves.”

As he leaves the bar, he sees in the corner of his eye Lisa yell something at Dean, and shortly leave in a flurry. Dean’s spiteful grin follows her out the door.

 

* * *

 

After leaving the bar, Castiel returns to Heaven to turn in his notes about the meeting with Lisa and Dean. He avoids the scornful eyes of higher-ranking angels that pass by him as he turns in his notes in the cupids’ main office. He turns a deaf ear to scattered whispers that surround him:

_“All those people, dying because he couldn’t just listen…“_

“ _He deserves everything that happened to him, honestly….“_

_“I’m surprised Naomi didn’t lock him up in chains…“_

That night, Castiel opts to sit on the same park bench where he wrote his notes earlier in the day. Without the sun, the bench’s wood is even colder underneath his thin jeans. The night is still, but his thoughts are flurried.

His phone—now his only form of communication due to his lack of grace—chimes, and he withdraws it from his pocket with cold and stiff hands. He stifles an exasperated groan as the screen lights up with the words:

 _New assignment, effective immediately: observe Dean Winchester._  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would love to hear any thoughts you have so far. Thank you so much for reading.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean knew he had a soulmate out there somewhere. He just ignored every sign of there being one.

When the tattoo on his ankle showed up, he didn’t google the tattoo description (a small infinity sign with a vertical line down the middle) to see if anyone else had posted about it on soulmate meeting sites. Sam insisted that he should, saying that it’s how he and Jess connected with each other, but every time Dean booted up his computer, hands poised over the keyboard, he couldn’t bring himself to type anything.

Seven years have passed since he got the tattoo. He's dated a few times, got his heart broken, chased girls and guys alike. All of them were decidedly _not_ his soulmate, and he didn’t care. The more he ignored his soulmate’s presence in the world, the less it seemed that he would ever get in contact with them at all. He eventually forgot about the notion of soulmates altogether, except for the times when Sam or his mom would nag him about it.

Then, last week, he met Lisa. Her chocolatey brown eyes and white smile struck him, making him completely smitten—until she told him that she’s his soulmate.

He had froze. He didn’t know why; Dean Winchester never freezes. But it happened and he pissed her off and now there’s a cupid trying to referee the situation, making his life is that much more complicated.

Needless to say, he’s not in a chummy mood when he returns home from he and Lisa’s ‘date’.

Dean sees Sam’s Volvo as his headlights flash across the driveway. After he shifts his car’s gears into park, he rests his forehead against the leather steering wheel for a moment to steady his rapid heart-rate. When the interior of the car starts to get cold without the engine on, he goes inside.

Sam’s floppy-haired head looks up from his laptop when Dean enters the kitchen. “How’d it go?” he asks.

Dean throws his keys onto the table, sits down, and proceeds to bang his forehead against the varnish.

“That great, huh?”

“Heaven brought in a _cupid,”_ Dean groans into the wood.

Sam barks out a laugh. “Wow, Dean, she must have been really pissed.”

“I tried to explain!” Dean rises to go to the fridge, “At the bar that night when we met, I told her that even though I’m her soulmate, I guarantee that she wants nothing to do with me and that she’s better off finding some close second to spend the rest of her life with.”

“But did you give her a reason why she’s better off not knowing you?”

Taking a beer out of the fridge, Dean positions the bottle cap on the counter’s edge and slams his palm onto it, the cap clattering to the floor. He takes a thoughtful pull of the frothy drink. “Not really.”

“Well no wonder she’s pissed! If Jess had tried to pull that with me when we met, I wouldn’t have taken that as an answer either. Soulmates aren’t a light topic, Dean. A soulmate is someone you are perfectly compatible with, and it’s a relationship you’re guaranteed to have happiness with the rest of your life.”

Dean scoffs, “What, like mom and dad?”

Sam schools his face into a neutral expression. “They’re different. You know that.”

“Except they’re not, Sammy.” Dean falls into his chair, giving his younger brother a hard look. “Soulmates aren’t a guaranteed thing. It’s all just manufactured love and destiny crap straight from Heaven; it’s all politics. Relationships are hard work, that’s all it is, and the idea of a soulmate pulls the wool over people’s eyes.”

“But you have to admit that there are people who would get along better than others,” Sam says, leaning back in his chair and settling in for a long conversation that they’ve had countless times before.

“I’m not saying that just _anyone_ could get along and make a relationship work. I just think the idea that there is only _one_ person for you, in the _entire_ universe, is crap. And don’t you find it a little fishy that all soulmates live on the same continent as each other—hell, even in the same state sometimes? That’s more than just coincidence.”

“It just plays into the whole ‘perfect for each other’ thing,” Sam shoots back.

“Whatever.” Dean snatches his beer from the table and stalks into the living room. “You’re just sappy and in love because you and Jess are newlyweds, therefore you have no stake in this argument.”

“Hey, I’m not sappy and in love!” Sam protests, messily gathering the laptop and legal papers into his arms and trailing after Dean.

After catching up on a couple of episodes of _The Bachelorette_ (“You realize that _this_ is also manufactured love and destiny crap, Dean”; “Can it, Sam, maybe I just like women having the power to pick whatever shmuck they like”), Sam decides to stay the night on the couch, since Dean apparently needs a babysitter after having a bad date. Dean stays awake past midnight, despite having to work in the early morning. He sits on the floor by Sam’s feet that are dangling over the couch’s armrest.

“How’s Dad doing?” Sam asks into the silence. The living room is dark but for the flickering infomercials on the television.

Dean is slow to respond, so Sam kicks him lightly in the head, probably thinking he had already fallen asleep.

“Not so good,” Dean says as he swats Sam’s leg in retribution.

“Drinking?”

“Yeah. And he’s gambling again.”

Sam lets out an explosive sigh. “That stupid bastard. But I can’t say I blame him.”

“What?” Dean laughs incredulously. “How can you not blame him? He’s spiraling out of control and does nothing to help himself. He keeps calling Mom and upsetting her because of the crap that _he’s_ dealing with. He’s so dysfunctional that I’m over at his house twice a week cleaning the damn place and buying him meals.”

“If my wife left with my two sons without an explanation after seven years of marriage, and one of those sons didn’t speak to me anymore, I’d drink my life away too,” Sam says.

Dean picks at the label on his beer. He’s forgotten if this is beer Number Four or Number Six; maybe he’s more like his old man than he wants to admit. “Mom had her reasons,” he says. “Dad was a dick to her. She wasn’t happy.”

“She abandoned him,” Sam shoots back, firmly. “I’m not saying he was—or is—a great dad, but to leave like that, without any warning or trying to help the marriage…” Sam pauses and Dean fights very hard not to lash out, to protect his mom’s actions. “All I’m saying is that maybe something could have been different. And I think he knows that too. And I think, since it’s eating at him so much… that’s why he drinks.”

“And gambles,” Dean mutters into his beer.

“And gambles,” Sam agrees with a sigh.

“If you feel so much pity for him, why don’t you talk to him?” Dean asks, slightly wincing in anticipation of Sam losing his temper at the question.

John is a sore subject for them to discuss. Dean sticks by his dad from a sense of duty, while Sam had given up on the old man a long time ago. The last time Sam and John spoke, Dean was nursing John’s black eye and busted lip (not that it was unwarranted; Sammy lost his cool when John started drunkenly slurring about what a bitch Mary was for leaving him in the first place).

Sam ignores Dean’s question, and asks instead, “You know what’s funny?”

Dean grunts questioningly.

“You idolized Dad so much when we were growing up. I remember you giving Mom the silent treatment for days when she wouldn’t let you go see him.” He frowns thoughtfully at the TV. “I just wonder what made you change your mind.”

“Him not showing up whenever he was supposed to spend time with us may have had something to do with it. And, that when he _would_ show up, he was usually drunk off his ass.”

“Yeah. I guess.”

Dean chews on the bottom of his lip and says, “He should have tried harder to keep his family.”

What Dean doesn’t say is that even though he hates the man that John has become, he is afraid to leave John’s side. If Dean leaves, then John has no one left.

Sam doesn’t respond. Dean watches the colorful and chaotic television screen, trying hard to keep his mind blank.

“Well,” Dean finally announces, slapping his knees and standing, “Bedtime.” He passes Sam and ruffles his hair messily just like he did when they were kids. “Night, bitch.”

Sam whacks Dean’s hands away irritably but grins up at Dean anyway. “Jerk.”

As usual, sleep doesn’t come easily for Dean once he settles into bed. He spends an hour or so getting familiar with the cracks on his ceiling. He thinks about Lisa: how gorgeous she looked in that yellow sundress earlier that night. How even when she was mad as hell at him, she had this beauty about her that he could analyze all day. There was no denying the attraction Dean has for her; maybe he would have given her a second chance.

Maybe if there wasn’t a damn _cupid_ involved.

Dean can still remember the angel’s stiff demeanor and those intensely piercing blue eyes. That self-righteous air about him, that confidence that he was doing the right thing by interfering with Dean’s love life. Dean would bet money that this is just one of countless ‘cases’ for the angel in dealing with broken soulmate connections. He probably doesn’t give a rat’s ass about _why_ Dean doesn’t want to try things with Lisa; he just wants results, to please Heaven or whatever.

Dean rolls onto his side, punching his pillow to aggressively fluff it. He glares at the bright red numbers on his digital alarm clock.

He hopes that he never sees that damn cupid again.

* * *

 

It’s exactly six in the morning when Castiel knocks on the bright blue door of Dean Winchester’s home.

When the door opens to Dean’s sullen glare, Castiel realizes that maybe it’s rude (according to human customs) to show up unannounced so early in the morning.

“ _You_ again?” Dean asks incredulously. He’s in a thin bathrobe, clutching a cup of steaming coffee to his chest. “Do you have any idea how early it is?”

Castiel is all too aware of how early it is. With his diminished grace rendering him nearly human, he groggily rose from a fitful sleep on a park bench this morning to discover he is _not_ a morning person. “I apologize,” says Castiel sincerely, “but you are my assignment now. I am supposed to accompany you in your day-to-day activities and observe you, so as to better help you with your soulmate connection problem.”

Dean leans his head forward, eyebrow raised. “Did you say ‘observe’ me? What am I, a science experiment?”

“Not an experiment, no, but you are a rather fascinating anomaly.”

Dean huffs a sigh and puts a hand on the doorknob. “Listen, cupid—“

“Castiel.”

“— _cupid_ , I am not going to be observed by anybody, for anything, you hear me? Especially not for this whole soulmate crap.” He begins to shut the door.

Castiel sticks his foot between the door and its frame. “Why are you so resistant to the idea of Lisa Braeden being your soulmate?”

“Because the whole concept is a bunch of bullshit,” Dean replies flatly, pushing the door on Castiel’s foot. “Now go away. I have to get ready for work.”

Castiel knows how stubborn humans can be. He was a guardian angel for eighteen years to one of the most stubborn teenage girls alive. He can see that Dean is much like Claire: deaf to anyone once they make a decision and determined to get their way. The tactic that Castiel learned with Claire was offering a sense of reason.

“I also have a job,” Castiel replies, leaning further into the doorway, “and that job is to pair you with you soulmate. Please allow me the time to at least explain why you should let me help you.”

Dean narrows his eyes. “If I let you say your piece, will you go away?”

“It’s more likely than if you shut this door on me right now.”

Sighing, Dean opens his arm toward the inside of his home. “Get in here, then.”

Castiel follows Dean into a small galley kitchen that is softened by the morning sunlight. A tall man is leaning across the counter, elbows propped on top of a few scattered books. He looks up from his reading and frowns at Dean questioningly, tilting his head toward Castiel.

Dean sighs explosively. “Sam, this is the pain-in-the-ass cupid from last night that I was telling you about. Cupid, this is my pet sasquatch, Sam.”

“Younger brother,” Sam corrects, leaning forward with a hand outstretched. “And I’m assuming you have a name besides ‘Cupid’?”

“Castiel,” he agrees, shaking the strong hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Dean pushes past them to tend to a sizzling skillet of scrambled eggs on the stovetop, pushing them around haphazardly with a spatula. “And don’t you go prodding into Sammy’s love life, too,” he warns, glaring at Castiel over his shoulder, “he already hitched his cart to his soulmate.”

“Congratulations,” Castiel says to Sam.

Sam beams. “Thanks. Going on three years tomorrow.”

“Strange, that your brother is so against the idea of a soulmate while you are sensible and open to it,” Castiel observes.

Sam snorts a laugh and Dean points a spatula, dripping with uncooked eggs, in Castiel’s direction. “How about you use your precious time here telling me your piece and then get the hell outta dodge? I need to leave for work in a half hour.”

“Fine.” Castiel straightens, adjusting his sweatshirt. He belatedly realizes it isn’t his usual formal trench coat. “When one resists meeting their soulmate, Heaven—specifically, the Cupid faction—takes notice. Especially when one soulmate wants to make a connection, and the other is resistant. As you probably know, it’s very rare for someone to _not_ want to meet their soulmate. Usually they’re born with a defect or are clinically insane.”

“Well, for Dean, the jury’s still out on that one…” Sam murmurs into his coffee mug, a small grin on his face.

“Can it, Sam.”

“When cupids interfere,” Castiel continues, resisting an eye roll, “they become assigned to the soulmate that is resisting the bond. My job is to investigate why you are resisting the bond, and to help you form a connection with Lisa.”

“And if I don’t _want_ to make a connection with Lisa?”

“In the end, that’s your choice. But I was told to warn you that you will live a very lonely life as a result.”

Dean snorts as he piles the eggs onto a plate. “What a tragedy.”

“At least hear him out,” Sam says. “This is the rest of your life we’re talking about, Dean. And just because you’ve tried before—“

“Honestly, Sam, don’t you have a corporation to sue for mowing over a flower or something?”

“—doesn’t mean that you shouldn’t try again.” Sam peers at his watch. “And I’m not due at the firm for another hour, but thanks for asking.”

Dean sits heavily at his kitchen table, forking a mouthful of food into his mouth. He glares warily at Castiel as he chews. “If I say I don’t want this whole soulmate shit, will you just… poof away? Leave me alone?”

Castiel thinks, _If only I could._ Aloud, he says, “I can’t leave until I’ve completed my task successfully, or until I’ve explored every option to pair you with Lisa and they have all failed.”

“What do you mean until you’ve explored every option?”

“I’ll attempt every route I can conceive in order to pair you and Lisa together. If, at the end of my wits, you and Lisa are still not bonded, then I’ll consider my job finished, but not accomplished.” Castiel hopes it won’t come to that. He knows the consequences Heaven will deal to him if it does.

There is brief silence in the kitchen: Dean staring at Castiel incredulously, Sam staring thoughtfully into his coffee mug. Castiel looks between the brothers, wondering if it was something he said.

“It makes sense, why you’re so against it all,” Sam says into the quiet.

Dean glares at his brother. “Sam,” he says, his tone a warning.

“What, Dean? It seems stupid to ignore Lisa—your _soulmate_ , someone you could be happy with—just because of something that happened in the past.”

“Leave it alone, Sam.”

“Maybe Castiel can help you get past the whole Benny thing.”

Dean’s fist comes crashing down onto the table, making the dishes shake. Sam grabs his coffee to save it from sloshing over the sides. Castiel feels his impassive expression slip into surprise.

When Dean speaks, his voice is quiet, and he stares at his brother with a dangerous expression. “I said. To leave it alone.”

Sam stares back at Dean, not backing down. Castiel feels uncomfortable with the interaction and stares at his scuffed sneakers.

“Well,” Sam finally says with false cheerfulness, pointedly setting his mug down and gathering his books into a leather messenger bag. “Dean, you’ve really stepped into it this time. Good luck, because I’m certainly not going to help you.”

“No, Sammy, wait—“ Dean’s knee knocks into the table as he rises to follow his brother down the hall.

Castiel lets out a breath through his nose, his eyes travelling to the window above the kitchen sink. Dean has a garden plot, in the far-left side of his backyard. Castiel imagines cheerful flowers bursting with color during the summer months. There is a stone bench near the garden, under the modest birch tree in Dean’s backyard. He doesn’t know Dean well, but he seems the type to sit under that tree and tend to his garden.

“Sam, you have to get me out of this,” Dean says from the entryway, his voice rising.

“Sorry, you got yourself into this, Dean,” Sam replies. The door opens. “My best advice? Do what the angel says. He’s here on direct orders from Heaven after all, and that tells me that they mean business. If it doesn’t work out with Lisa, well, at least you tried. And he’ll go away.”

There’s a pause. Castiel strains to listen. “I can’t do this again,” Dean says quietly.

“Dean. Just _try_ , okay? Who knows, you could even end up happy.”

Castiel can’t hear Dean’s reply; only the front door shutting. He can hear Dean’s heavy footfalls bring him back to the kitchen. Dean glares at Castiel, who hasn’t moved from his position by the counter, his hands behind his back.

“I think it’s time you leave now,” Dean suggests firmly.

“I can’t.”

“Yeah, you can.” Dean steps forward and jams a finger into Castiel’s chest. “You can go back up there and tell your fluffy-winged friends that the next time Heaven wants to butt its head into my business, they can shove their opinions up their asses.”

Castiel squints at Dean questioningly. “Neither I nor my brothers and sisters have ‘fluffy wings’.”

“It’s an expression.”

Castiel continues to stare.

“Never mind.” Dean turns on his heel and walks away from the kitchen. “I need to get ready for work. Just, can you leave and come back when I’m dead?”

Castiel frowns at Dean’s retreating back. He can only assume that the expression means that Dean wants him to leave. Castiel leans against the counter, contemplating the grout between the blue tiles. He knows that whether he and Dean like it or not, his job dictates that he stays with Dean until his job is complete: success or not.

The latter option is not acceptable to Castiel. The only choice is to stand in Dean’s kitchen and wait for him to emerge. To perhaps ask when Dean and Lisa can meet to try again.

In twenty point three minutes, Dean has emerged in a grey button-up shirt and dark-washed jeans. Castiel can’t imagine why Lisa and Dean are so aversive to each other; they are both very attractive people. Castiel’s eyes linger on Dean’s pleasingly symmetrical face a beat too long.

“Seriously?” Dean huffs. “This is my house, man. Don’t you angels have any sense of privacy?”

As Dean is shoving a sandwich into his bag, Castiel responds, “Not when we have a job to do.”

“Okay.” Dean spins around on his heel, and gestures to Castiel. “You are going to report back to Heaven and say that you did all you could do, but Dean Winchester is a stubborn son of a bitch who won’t let you pair him with his soulmate. And, after you do that, you’re never going to bother me again. Okay?”

“I can’t accept that course of action.”

“ _Why_?” Dean practically growls.

“Because I have a—“

Dean throws up his hands. “A job, right? That’s what you’re gonna say? Well, I have a job too, and I’m late, so beat it.” He hoists his bag over his shoulder and stalks out the door. He calls over his shoulder, “And lock the door behind you!”

A moment later, Castiel can hear Dean’s obnoxiously loud car start in the driveway and pull away from the house. After begrudgingly locking the front door, he stands on the doorstep and watches Dean’s black car amble down the road. Castiel uses what little grace he has left to transport himself to the backseat of Dean’s car.

As soon as he lands on the leather bench seat, he hears Dean yelp, “Son of a bitch!”

“Hello again,” Castiel offers.

“How the hell did you get here?”

“I’m an angel.”

“So you’re my _stalker_ now?” Dean exclaims.

“Until you bond with Lisa Braeden as your soulmate, yes.”

Dean pinches the bridge of his nose. He stops the car in front of a red light. “Oh, my _God_ ,” he mutters.

“God won’t be likely to help; he’s the one that ordered me to do this, after all.”

Dean spins around in his seat. His eyes are green and bloodshot. Castiel can feel the heat of Dean’s anger sparking the tension in the car. “Listen,” he hisses, “I don’t give a _flying fuck_ what Heaven ordered, or what God ordered, or what you want to do to me—it’s not happening. So get out of this car, go back to Heaven, and leave me _alone._ ”

Castiel narrows his eyes at Dean. His spine stiffens to a straighter pose. “No.”

“Why not?!”

Scattered horns of cars behind them pierce the air before Castiel can respond. Dean growls, shifts the car into drive, and flies forward.

After a few minutes of tense silence, Dean asks, “Can’t you even see where I’m coming from? Why I don’t want you to do this?”

Castiel stares at his hands that are clasped in his lap. He notices that his sweatshirt zipper is broken; the teeth have come apart at the middle. That won’t be sufficient for another night of harsh winter chill; he will have to ask Heaven for a new set of clothes.

“Hey,” Dean says again, softer this time. Castiel looks up abruptly at Dean’s eyes in the rearview mirror. He realizes it’s been thirty point five seconds since Dean asked his question.

“I’m—“ Castiel licks his lips; they’re painfully chapped. “I don’t want to do this either,” he confesses before his mind catches up with his mouth.

Dean frowns at him in the rearview mirror. “What do you mean?”

“This is my first task as a cupid. I was a guardian angel before this. I protected…“ He pauses, memories of Claire flashing behind his eyes, pinching at his nerves, “I protected people. And now I have to play matchmaker. I’m neither qualified nor interested.” He raises his eyes to look at Dean’s; they’re still flickering to look at Castiel in the rearview mirror. “I really don’t mean to be a bother. I just need to do my job in its entirety before I return to Heaven; even if it means reporting back that I’ve failed.”

Dean is silent for four blocks and two traffic lights. He intermittently tightens and loosens his fists on the steering wheel, making the leather crackle. Castiel pokes his toes against the tight confines of his sneakers as he waits.

When Dean speaks, it’s soft and gentle, and doesn’t carry the same brashness. “What’s your name again?”

“Castiel.”

Dean nods. “Cas,” he decides.

Castiel feels a small smile tug at his face. “That’s acceptable.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A new surprise tag is going to be added when I post chapter 3... it may or may not have to do with Dean's profession... *blows a kiss and runs away*


	3. Chapter 3

Dean works at an elementary school, tucked into the bustling city of Lawrence. An expansive green field is wrapped around the modest building. Despite its small size, it is grand in its appearance. There are white-washed bricks lining the front entrance and vines not yet shriveled by the fall chill decoratively drape themselves over the Victorian windows. Castiel sees a path leading to a bare garden that is likely green and lush in the summer.

It’s not like any school Castiel has ever seen, which usually resemble prisons, rather than a place of learning. He remarks this to Dean.

“It’s a Montessori school,” Dean says as he puts the car in park, as if that explains everything. “Fancy education learning, and gets a lot of funding since it’s a private school. Wouldn’t have gotten this job if Sam’s wife’s sister hadn’t worked as a music teacher here.”

“What do you teach?”

Dean shifts in his seat. “First grade.”

Castiel fights a wistful smile. He remembers Claire in first grade: blonde pigtails, the Barbie doll she insisted on carrying with her everywhere, a Barbie princess backpack.

Opening the squeaky door to his car, Dean announces, “Well, see you in seven hours.”

“I am coming too,” Castiel says as he scoots over the bench seat to the passenger door.

“Like hell you are.”

“This is part of my job,” Castiel says. He leaves the car and stands strong under Dean’s glare across the rooftop. “It would give me a better indication of how to help you pair with Lisa. Or, more to the point, why you refuse to.”

“Dude, you aren’t going to find that out at my work,” Dean says incredulously. He’s already walking toward the building, as if he could outrun Castiel.

“Heaven insists that the first course of action for a failed soulmate connection is for a cupid to observe the reason why the connection failed in the first place,” Castiel says, trailing after Dean.

That makes Dean stop. “Heaven, or you?”

“Sorry?”

“Are you hiding behind this ‘Heaven demands it’ bullshit because you’re just an out-of-control cupid stalker?”

Castiel tilts his head with a slowly stated, “I don’t understand.”

Dean huffs out a sigh, blinking into the sun as he stares at his school building. “Fine,” he says at length. “You’ll come in and not say a _word,_ got it? Nothing about this cupid or soulmate bullshit. This is my work. I don’t want to get fired because of you, or Heaven, or whoever the hell insists on poking their noses into my personal life.”

“My aim is to improve your quality of life, not worsen it.”

Dean rolls his eyes and continues toward the entrance. Castiel, fully realizing he’s not welcome but not technically denied either, follows.

Dean seems well-liked; as soon as he walks through the double doors, people greet him in the halls cheerfully, even though it’s barely seven in the morning. Dean responds with double their enthusiasm, even though Castiel can see the pinching of the corners of his eyes and lips that suggests he’s still very stressed from their previous conversation.

And likely from Castiel’s presence in general.

Castiel follows Dean into what he assumes is the teacher’s break room. Unlike the halls of the school, it is not exuding color and there are no pictures of children’s artwork on display for decoration. Rather, there are handwritten signs instructing people to remember to clean their dishes and if they make a mess in the microwave, to clean it ‘asap’.

Dean deposits his bag on the circular table in the middle of the room and slumps into a seat. With no one to see him, he presses his palms into his eyes and groans. “Nothing like a cupid stalking you to ruin your day.”

Castiel resists an eye roll as he stands behind a chair across from Dean, hands clasped behind his back. “I promise I won’t interfere with your day-to-day activities.”

“So what are you looking for, when you observe me? My compatibility with kids?” Dean leans back in his chair, hands threaded behind his head. He regards Castiel for a moment, side-eyeing the door to the lounge, before his face splits into a grin. “Or are you just looking for an excuse to stare at my ass?”

Castiel blinks, completely thrown by this change in attitude in Dean. “I don’t see how your rear-end will help my observations.”

“But it will,” Dean insists, leaning forward. His grin has become too wide and it makes Castiel nervous. “You have to make sure that I’ve got the goods to put out to Lisa, right?” He rises from the chair, stepping closer to Castiel. His breath tickles Castiel’s cheek. “Why not check for yourself?”

Frowning at his bright green eyes, Castiel minutely leans away as Dean presses his body into his personal space. He can feel Dean’s leg against his, and Dean’s hand lightly brushing Castiel’s side. “You’re flirting with me to try and make me uncomfortable,” he realizes, incredulously.

Dean’s eyes are sparkling—is it even possible for human eyes to do such a thing?—as he leans toward Castiel’s face. “Or maybe I’m flirting for the sake of flirting,” he says, voice pitched to a deep sultry tone.

Castiel isn’t deterred. “You’re trying to make me uncomfortable so that I’ll leave.”

There’s a pause. Then Dean leans out of Castiel’s space with a long sigh. Castiel could say that he misses the warmth of Dean so close to him, but that doesn’t make any sense.

“I guess angels don’t run for the hills when sex is involved, huh?” Dean asks as he pulls a laptop out of his bag.

“I can’t speak for all angels, but it will take a lot for me to ‘run for the hills’ and resign from this mission,” Castiel replies. He is frustrated by the fact that Dean looks so calm sitting at the table, as if nothing just happened, and meanwhile Castiel’s heart rate refuses to slow down.

Dean grins at Castiel, whose heart is sprinting a marathon now. “Challenge accepted.”

 

* * *

 

Although Castiel can’t claim to know Dean well at this stage, he still thinks the classroom where Dean teaches is decorated in his style. There are noteworthy literature classics on the wall, ones that his first graders couldn’t possibly read but still serve as a reminder of things to come. Books such as _Tom Sawyer_ , _Anna Karenina, Moby Dick,_ and _The Great Gatsby_ , as well as countless others. These all seemed to be the kinds of books that Dean would have read and enjoyed. Castiel imagines a young Dean with a paperback copy of _Slaughterhouse Five_ stuffed in the back pocket of his jeans as he swung from jungle gym equipment with his friends in the schoolyard.

As the students begin to file into the classroom before the first bell of the day, Castiel can see the enthusiasm they have for Dean. He greets each of them with a high five and sometimes finishes a button on top of their shirts that their mothers forgot in the rush of the morning, or ties up a girl’s hair when she complains of it being in her face.

Castiel sits in the back of the classroom as promised, drawing as little attention to himself as possible. Inevitably, curious eyes peer around the desks to scrutinize him.

“Mr. Winchester, who is that?” a red-headed girl pipes up, hand wildly waving in the air to get Dean’s attention.

Dean gives Castiel a hard look before his features expertly smooth over. “That’s Mr. Cas, Alexa,” he replies. Gesturing to where Castiel sits, he instructs, “Say hello to Mr. Cas, kiddos.”

“Hello Mr. Cas,” the classroom choruses.

“Today he’s observing me teach you munchkins, so eyes up here and don’t bother him, okay? He has to concentrate and so do you guys.”

This instruction isn’t well-heeded, however; when Dean tries to wrangle the kids outside for recess, most of them instead dash to the back of the classroom to talk to Castiel.

“Where are you from, Mr. Cas?”

“Why are your clothes all wrinkled?”

“Do you need to comb your hair? My mom combs my hair every morning. Maybe she can help you.”

Castiel sits with a rigid spine, unsure of who to answer at once; he doesn’t like lying to children, but he knows what Dean’s reaction will be if he tells them he’s a cupid. And, truthfully, he would rather not admit it either.

“No use, kids,” Dean says behind the chattering crowd. “He doesn’t speak English.”

A mischievous grin splits Dean’s face when Castiel minutely glares at him.

“What do you speak?” a boy gasps.

“Chinese,” Dean deadpans. “Come on, guys, you’re killing prime kickball time.” He shuffles them out the door, shooting Castiel a wink before shutting the door behind them.

 

* * *

 

Dean keeps up the ‘no language’ ruse later when they run into Charlie, the kindergarten art teacher. Castiel knows that she is Anna’s charge immediately once Charlie introduces herself and extends her hand in greeting, the hemp friendship bracelet that Anna made when Charlie was four dangling from her wrist.

Castiel opens his mouth in surprise, about to ask where Anna is, when Dean claps him hard on the shoulder and says, “No use, Charlie, guy doesn’t speak a shred of English.”

“Oh,” Charlie says, dropping her hand. She eyes Dean suspiciously. “But you said he’s observing you from the community college?”

“Yup, and about to go get him a guest pass right now,” Dean adds, commencing to push Castiel down the hall. “See ya later, Charlie!”

After attaching Castiel’s guest pass to his sweatshirt, Dean deposits Castiel in the teacher’s lounge during his afternoon classes.

“I can only take so much of you intensely looking at me while I teach,” Dean explains, faking a shudder. “It’s creepy, man.”

He fishes a book out of his bag and sets it in on the table in front of Castiel. “In case you get bored,” he says.

Castiel stares at the book; _Slaughterhouse Five,_ the paperback cover announces. It’s worn and frayed at the edges. The exact thing Castiel imagined Dean walking around with as a child was in his bag, he thinks with a small smile.

Castiel tilts his head up to share his smile. “Thank you, Dean.”

Visibly swallowing, and rubbing the back of his neck, Dean mutters, “Uh, sure, Cas. Be back in a couple hours, okay?”

Castiel squints thoughtfully at Dean’s retreating back. This Dean is the opposite of the flirtatious and brash Dean that Castiel experienced this morning. Curious.

During the first hour that he is alone, Castiel reads the book in its entirety. His fingertips brush across Dean’s scribbled notes where he wrote in the margins of the pages, almost smiling at the cleverness of Dean’s observations. Dean had even written a paragraph-long hypothesis of why Vonnegut ended the entire novel with such a senseless question posed in a made-up language.

Once he’s finished, Castiel lays the book gently on the table and regards the large window framing the east wall of the lounge. The day is cloudy, with the sun’s rays barely hitting the dehydrated and dead leaves scattered on the ground.

He remembers Claire when she was in first grade.

It was his second year with her; she was obstinately fighting her foster mother during the whole morning and car ride to the school. After her foster mother drove away in a huff, Castiel appeared by Claire’s side and carefully touched her shoulder. She kept her eyes forward, glaring at the bricked building.

“Why don’t you want to go in?” he asked her.

She took a shaky breath, her voice wobbling as she explained, “When daddy dropped me off for school last time, that’s when he and mommy didn’t come back.”

Castiel had let his rush of emotions for this blonde and messily pig-tailed girl that was now his charge bring him to one knee. He kept his hand gently clasped to her small shoulder as he stared very seriously into her watery blue eyes.

“I will never leave you,” he said to her. “I will be outside every day you go to school, standing guard at the entrance, until you are finished with your studies and are ready to go home.”

“Every day?” she gasped with wide eyes.

“Every single day.”

Her eyes began to water. She latched her arms around his neck, firmly burying her face into his suit collar. After a few moments, he carefully untangled her and walked her to her classroom.

Later that morning, when she had recess outside, he saw her eyes search beyond the chain link fence that bracketed the playground. When she saw Castiel sitting on a bench, invisible to all but her, her face split into a wide and toothy smile.

As always with Claire, he couldn’t help but smile back.

“Hey, you’re Dean’s friend, right?” Charlie greets as she breezes into the teacher’s lounge.

Castiel blinks and turns his head, abruptly yanked out of his memories. “Oh. Yes.”

Charlie looks at him and stops, asking in alarm, “Are you okay? You look sick.”

Castiel touches his face, frowning. “I don’t feel sick,” he replies.

“Ah-ha!” Charlie slams a foot onto the ground, making him jump. “I knew you spoke English! Sometimes I think that Dean doesn’t have an honest bone in his body.”  She lands into a seat across from Castiel at the table, ripping open a tin-foiled sandwich. “But, seriously, you do look kinda ill. You okay?”

“I feel fine,” Castiel lies.

Charlie eyes him warily, biting into her food. “Okay, so since you speak English, what are you really doing here? I bet money that Dean lied about that, too.”

“Truthfully, I’m not here from the community college,” Castiel agrees. “I am here on a job.”

“What kind of job?”

“To observe Dean.”

“Is he in trouble with the government or something?”

Castiel sighs, looking down at the table’s dark varnish. “I’m an angel. I’m the cupid assigned to Dean’s soulmate case.”

When he looks up, Charlie’s bite of sandwich is halfway out of her mouth as she gapes at him. “Dean’s case of _what_?”

“Didn’t he tell you that he is having trouble connecting with his soulmate?”

Charlie scoffs. “When it comes to his love life, Dean’s one of the most private people I know. He doesn’t tell anyone anything around here. I’m one of his better friends, and not even _I_ know the whole story. All I know is that when Benny left, he completely shut down for a while.”

“Benny?”

“His ex-boyfriend. They split up about a year ago.”

Castiel feels a spark of interest, knowing that, if he investigates enough, this information can reveal a reason as to why Dean is resistant to the idea of soulmates.

“You don’t have the usual look of a cupid,” Charlie remarks, breaking Castiel from his thoughts again. She is studying him scrupulously, munching on another bite of sandwich.

“I don’t?”

“Anna points them out to me sometimes. Cupids just have a less serious air about them. They’re almost obnoxiously cheerful. You just don’t fit that description.” Charlie smiles softly at her sandwich. “Anna is my guardian angel, by the way. Oh, hey! You might know her!”

“I do know her. She’s my greatest friend,” Castiel says fondly.

“Wait. Your name is Cas—as in, short for Castiel? Are you _the_ Castiel? She talks about you all the time.” Charlie’s face suddenly becomes very somber. “I’m sorry about what happened with Claire.”

Castiel feels the pain of her words acutely before he can tamper it; without the full power of his grace, he seems more prone to strong emotions. He clears his throat before replying, “Thank you for saying so.”

“Is that why you’re a cupid now, and not a guardian angel?”

Castiel nods. “Dean is the assignment that’s meant to redeem my actions.”

“Then they really painted you into a corner, didn’t they?” Charlie sets her sandwich aside, leaning forward. “Want to know something that might help your assignment?” she asks conspiratorially. At Castiel’s nod, she continues, “I would bet money that the fact Dean refuses to hook up with his soulmate is because of Benny. From what I know, their relationship ended badly, and Dean hasn’t looked at a girl or dude since. But I didn’t tell you that, okay?”

“Thank you,” Castiel whispers back with perfunctory nod.

There is a brief silence in the break room as Charlie chews on her sandwich, Castiel on his thoughts.

“A cupid,” Charlie murmurs thoughtfully, “you must feel like a fish out of water, going from big old guardian to cupid.”

Castiel can only gape at her for a moment, in awe that someone finally understands his predicament. He finally says to her, candidly, “It is one of the more challenging situations I’ve found myself in.”

 

* * *

 

Dean is light on his feet after a full day of teaching. Despite the fact that most teachers lumber out to their cars, eyes glazed over, Castiel sees Dean brighter and more alert than ever.

He lets Castiel sit in the front seat this time, and can’t seem to stop talking about his day. In the middle of his story about how a boy named Henry tried to draw on another girl’s face (and explaining it was because he was trying to show the girl he ‘like liked’ her), Castiel realizes that this is Dean at his happiest. He seems to have forgotten about his aversion to Castiel, and is a warm and inviting presence.

Castiel can’t help but stare at him as the warm setting sun frames his well-angled face, taking in the way his lips form certain words and his eyes sparkle when talking about his students.

“I read the book you lent me,” Castiel says when there is a lull in the conversation.

Dean grins at Castiel, eyes flickering between him and the road. “Yeah? What’d you think?”

After considering for a moment, Castiel decides, “It was difficult to come back to the current reality, after experiencing the unreliable narrative of the book. And, he has a ‘wonderful way of punching us the reader in the stomach with the reality that most things are senseless.’”

Dean chuckles, “You read my footnotes, huh?”

“Word for word,” Castiel replies, almost slipping Dean a smile.

“I forgot those were even in there,” Dean murmurs, almost to himself, as he turns into his driveway. He shifts his car into park and turns to Castiel. “Do you like burgers?”

For the next few hours as Dean cooks them dinner, Castiel’s relationship with Dean is peaceful—a far cry from the stress that it had caused them that morning. Dean asks him about the different positions that an angel can have in Heaven; Castiel explains that mostly angels are assigned to be guardians, warriors, or cupids (although the last of that list are normally angels who are born with little to no grace). When Dean begins asking about ranks of angels, Castiel carefully sidesteps to the next topic, not wishing to explain to Dean that as a cupid he is the lowest on the totem pole.

“So why does Heaven take soulmates so seriously?” Dean asks as he deposits a plate of burger and fries in front of Castiel.

Castiel hadn’t realized how hungry he was until he smells the burger’s enticing aroma; he resists the urge to grab it and shove it all into his mouth, risks of choking be damned. “God wants humans to utilize their potential for happiness as much as possible,” Castiel explains. “With a soulmate, a human can be perfectly bonded to a life partner and know what happiness is.”

“And if a human doesn’t give a shit about that?” Dean asks around a mouthful of burger.

Castiel carefully picks up the burger, the meat leaving behind a bleeding trail across the plate. “Then Heaven will try to assist the match through cupid interference. If someone doesn’t pair with their soulmate, it is assumed that the likely won’t be able to sustain relationships with anyone else.” He takes a bite into the burger and briefly closes his eyes at the rush of flavor.

Dean laughs at his expression. “You like it?”

“Very much.” Castiel eats the burger in two point three minutes to prove the point.

“What do you mean by if someone doesn’t pair with their soulmate, they won’t be able to have lasting relationships with anyone else?”

Castiel looks up to see Dean frowning down at his beer. “If you think about it,” Castiel says carefully, “everyone has a soulmate that they will pair with eventually. If one marries someone who isn’t their soulmate, the theory is that either the relationship will dissolve, or one person will find their soulmate and leave the other, regardless of the relationship.”

Dean is gripping his beer more tightly. “Yeah. Makes sense.”

Castiel chews a French fry thoughtfully, knowing that he is now treading into dangerous territory. When Dean’s ex-boyfriend was mentioned by Sam, he’d responded irately and shut down the conversation immediately. But Castiel needs to gain ground with Dean and figure out what is holding him back from Lisa.

“Are you asking because of Benny?” he asks, bravely crossing over the metaphorical line.

Dean’s head whips up, eyes flashing dangerously at Castiel. “What did you say?”

“Is what happened between you and Benny the reason you are aversive to the idea of a soulmate?”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Cas. Leave it alone, I mean it.”

Castiel is amazed at how quickly the temperature has dropped in the room simply because of Dean’s sharp change in attitude. “I’m only trying to understand why you refuse to give Lisa a chance,” he placates, “and I think it’s because of something in your past holding you back from the idea of soulmates.”

After glaring at Castiel for another moment, Dean rises to his feet and grabs both their plates. He stalks to the sink and throws them in, making a startling shattering sound. Dean white-knuckles the sink, leaning over the basin. “Get out.”

Castiel sighs. This could have gone better. “Dean—“

Dean doesn’t turn around. “I said get the fuck out.”

“I’m trying to help.”

“ _No.”_ Dean’s abruptly in Castiel’s space, pointing a finger fiercely in his direction. “You’re not trying to ‘ _help’_ anyone. If you were, you would leave me the fuck alone and just let me live my life. But no, you have a ‘job’, right? Well I let you do your damn job. I let you observe me for the day, and make your creepy little observations. But now it’s time for you to get the fuck out, and leave me alone.”

Dean goes to the front door, picks up Castiel’s shoes and throws them into Castiel’s chest. Castiel barely catches them. “I gave you a chance, but now you’re just being a pain in my ass.”

Castiel carefully slips his sneakers on and obediently walks through the door, held open wide by Dean. Once on the porch, he turns around—to apologize, maybe try to explain himself—but the bright blue door is slammed in his face before he can.

Castiel huffs, his breath making soft tendrils into the crisp autumn air. He’s been kicked out before. One time he said something wrong to Claire about a boy who had just broken her heart (“He wasn’t as special as you think, Claire”) and she kicked him out to the front yard. He didn’t mind; his grace kept him warm and he didn’t think much of it.

Now, sitting on the chilly stone of Dean’s doorstep, he doesn’t feel his grace warming him as effectively as before. He glares at the etched concrete of the sidewalk as Naomi’s words echo in his mind, the ones she said as she extracted his grace: “ _Oops, took a bit too much.”_

He wonders how human he is, at this point.

Hours pass. The sun dips below the horizon, taking any remaining warmth with it. The cloudy sky leaks an icy rain; the house’s veranda barely keeps the moisture off Castiel’s back. He begins to shudder violently. He thinks he may be too cold.

To keep his mind off his numbing toes and fingers, barely kept warm by his thin hoodie and soaking wet shoes, he thinks of Claire.

She loved this weather. She loved the holiday that came with the snow. She loved throwing snowballs at Castiel, even in her sullen teenage years, and laughing when snow stuck to his eyebrows.

He wonders if she’s enjoying the cold weather now, with the promise of snow in the air.

“ _Jesus._ Cas, what the hell?!”

Castiel blinks up at a figure above him, who he thinks is Dean, but his vision is swimming and it’s hard to tilt his head back at all.

“Can you get up?” Castiel hears. He looks at his legs, frowning when they betray him and don’t move. He feels Dean’s hands hook underneath either of his arms and hoist him into the house.

When he hits the warm air in Dean’s house, he immediately begins shaking. Or, maybe he was shaking before but didn’t notice. He’s not sure. For the countless time that day he’s frustrated with his lack of grace.

“Here, drink this.”

Castiel blinks up at Dean. Somehow he’s been transported to the couch, a blanket around his shoulders, a steaming mug of something is being pushed into his hands.

Dean crouches before him, arm propped on one knee. “Cas, what the hell? You were out there all night?”

Through the violent shivers, Castiel nods in affirmation.

“ _Why_?”

Castiel manages to say, “Job.”

“You sit out in the freezing cold because it’s your _job_? Is this that shit about having to observe me? You know you can’t observe me if you’re dead.”

Castiel sighs, trying to will more control over his jaw so that he can reply. It’s a failed mission. He clutches the mug tighter. The warmth feels good against his hands.

“Aren’t angels not supposed to get cold, anyway?” Dean asks, rising to grab another blanket from the couch and winding it tightly around Castiel’s body.

“No grace,” Castiel admits.

Dean stops, frowning. “You have no grace?”

“Barely.”

“Oh.” Dean worries his bottom lip, hands still clutching the blanket around Castiel. He sighs explosively and turns on his heel, stalking toward the hallway. “This is ridiculous,” he announces loudly as he goes.

Castiel watches him retreat into the hallway, finding that his shivering is already subsiding. He can’t feel his toes, but he supposes that feeling will return eventually.

Dean returns, throwing a pile of clothes at his feet. “Here. You’re soaking wet. You gotta change your clothes.”

Castiel looks up at him, nodding. “Thank you, Dean.”

Dean stares at him for a moment longer before tilting his head to the ceiling, sighing again. “Will you get that look off your face if I make you some food?”

Castiel nods.

“Fine.” Dean takes off toward the kitchen, grumbling.

Castiel sets his mug on the floor and peels his sweatshirt and t-shirt off. He picks up the dark green, long sleeved shirt that Dean gave him, pulling it over his wet hair. When he pokes his head beyond the collar, he sees Dean in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room, frowning with his arms crossed.

“You’re pretty helpless for an angel, aren’t you?”

“I’m not used to being so human,” Castiel admits. “I would do better if I had more of my grace.”

Dean chews on his bottom lip in thought. “And you won’t leave me alone because of your ‘job’.”

“Correct.”

His chest heaving in an overdramatic sigh, Dean spins on his heel, his voice drifting from the kitchen as he says, “Sounds like you’re staying in my spare room, then.”

Castiel tries to fight a smile when he hears Dean quickly add, “But if you mention Benny again I’m throwing you out on your ass to freeze to death, you hear?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments fuel me to write the next chapter faster. it's a scientific fact.
> 
> (also, first grade teacher Dean is my weakness, Aurry and Lexi if you guys are reading this, you can attest to that)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would just like to clear any confusion about Cas' hair, and emphasize very strongly that it is most definitely the same sex hair that we all love and cherish from seasons 4 and 5

Dean expects the rest of the week to be a stressful mess of avoiding Castiel every chance he got, trying to dodge the stalking cupid.

Instead, a surprising new friendship is defiantly blossoming.

Castiel is _fun_ to hang around. He’s a nerdy little angel that doesn’t understand half of Dean’s jokes or references, but Dean notices that he has this charm about him. Every time he does his signature head tilt, or that squinty eye thing, and Dean wonders how he can make him do it again.

And Cas has a sense of humor; a really weird sense of humor, granted, but one that Dean finds hilarious. It first showed when they were driving to Dean’s school the second morning of Castiel staying there. They were on I-70 when an insane woman began whipping in between lanes and almost crashing into Dean’s car.

Before Dean could start swearing and losing his temper at her, Castiel grumbled in the seat next to him, “I hope her bladder was worth the danger.”

Dean turned toward Cas with a confused look, anger completely dissipating. “Whaddaya mean?”

Castiel met Dean’s eyes and said, with a completely straight face, “That’s the only reason I can see as to why she would put herself and everyone else on the highway in danger. A desperate need to urinate.”

Dean can’t remember the last time he laughed that hard; he almost veered off the road twice as Castiel was asking him “I don’t understand, Dean, what’s wrong?” over and over. Which of course just made Dean laugh harder.

Sam, ever the overprotective oaf, makes excuses to pop in and out of the house throughout the week; “Jess asked me to come pick up that DVD you borrowed of hers, Dean” or “Still need help fixing that leaky faucet in the downstairs bathroom?” or “Can you take a look at my car? Something’s rattling under the hood.”

While Dean searched for the DVD or grabbed his tool box or was poking his head under the front hood of Sam’s car, he would catch glimpses of Sam, standing a little too close to Castiel, arms crossed over his broad chest. He would ask wary questions as to how exactly Castiel thinks he is helping Dean, if he was actually doing anything good being here with Dean, and Castiel would answer all of them patiently.

Dean would tell him to go get a life, but since he would do the exact same thing if Sam were in his position, he turns a blind eye to it.

Charlie and Cas become friends, weirdly enough; Dean often walks into the teacher’s lounge to find Cas and Charlie chumming it over the lunch table and drinking coffee. Apparently, they have a mutual friend, Anna or someone. Dean wouldn’t mind their friendship if Charlie didn’t keep smacking Dean and telling him ‘be more nice to Cas’ every time Dean complained about him.

Dean and Cas seem to fall into a comfortable rhythm with each other. That is, until Cas decides to bring up Lisa again.

They’re washing dishes after a hearty dinner of lasagna (Dean’s mom’s recipe), and Dean feels relaxed after a full Friday of teaching. Dean likes this part of the day the best: handing soapy dishes to Castiel for him to dry while he rambles about his day. Castiel always listens attentively, that not-really-a-smile flickering on his face. Dean knows that Cas is not on Earth to be friends with Dean, but he enjoys his company all the same.

“Dean,” Castiel begins as he places a plate in a cupboard over the countertop, breaking Dean from his thoughts, “I want to revisit the subject of you and Lisa trying to bond as soulmates.”

Dean stills his hand while in the soapy water. His jaw twitches as he tries to reign in a sweep of anger. He shuts off the water and pushes the suds down the drain with a sponge. He wipes his hand on a dishtowel and faces Castiel, hip propped against the sink, arms crossed defensively. “You won’t ever give this up, will you?”

“This is the reason why I’m staying on Earth; why I’m staying with you. To facilitate a connection between you and Lisa.”

Dean breathes out a humorless laugh. “Yeah, I guess I forgot we weren’t just two friends hanging out,” he admits, feeling more let down than he should.

Cas does his signature head tilt. Apparently, the concept of friendship confuses him. “Dean, I have a proposition,” Castiel says slowly.

Holding up a hand, Dean cuts him off. “Only if you follow my proposition first.”

Castiel raises an eyebrow. “Which is?”

He knows this will be a bad idea, but it’s a Friday night and, why not?

Dean grins and reaches to the cupboard behind Castiel’s head. He feels Castiel stiffen when Dean’s warm arm rests against Castiel’s shoulder as he digs around in the cabinet. Dean pulls back with two shot glasses pinched between his fingers.

“You’re drinking with me,” Dean declares.

“Angels don’t drink.”

“Well, according to you, you ain’t much of an angel anymore anyway.” Dean pulls out a bottle of Jim Beam (Black label, none of that cheap shit) from the bottom cupboard.

Castiel rolls his eyes but follows Dean to the living room anyway. Dean dumps the bourbon and shot glasses onto the coffee table.

“Every time you take a shot, you can ask me a question about myself, whatever you have to know for your ‘job’,” Dean explains, sitting cross-legged on the floor, his white-socked feet tucked under his legs. “But every time _I_ take a shot, I get to ask you questions about _you._ ”

Castiel sits on the couch, hands in his lap, looking adorably out of place in the situation. “Why me?”

“Because this whole thing has been awfully one-sided. You observe me, live in my house, and I don’t know anything about you. I don’t even know your last name!”

“Angels don’t have last names. And I believe you need to take a shot before asking questions about me, according to your rules.”

Dean wagged a finger in the air with a wide grin. “Ah, but that wasn’t a question, and you just answered it by yourself.” He pours the amber liquid into each shot glass. He hands a glass to Castiel, who takes it warily.

“You first,” Dean offers, tilting his glass towards Castiel. “Hit me.”

“I don’t wish to—“

“It’s an expression, Cas. Take a shot and you can ask me a question.”

“Ah.” Castiel frowns into the dark liquid. “It doesn’t smell pleasant,” he remarks.

“We can try it on the rocks, if you want.”

Castiel gives him a strange look, probably about to say that he doesn’t understand that reference or something equally Cas-like. Instead, he tips the glass back into his mouth and swallows quickly.

Dean laughs at his horrified expression.

“It’s sour and it burns,” Castiel chokes out. “People drink this voluntarily?”

“You’ll see why eventually,” Dean says. He holds his ankles and leans backward, regarding Castiel with a raised eyebrow. “So? Your question?”

Castiel frowns for a moment in thought, then blurts, “Tell me about Benny.”

Dean huffs a surprised laugh, his body tensing. “Wow, you don’t mess around.” He stares at his hands with a troubled frown. “Can we… stall this question?”

Castiel begins, “But you told me—“

“I know Cas, I know. And I’ll answer the question, but… can I get a little drunker first?” He looks up and sees Castiel’s troubled eyes looking at him. Dean knows why he asked the question in the first place; he wants to know how to get Dean over the soulmate problem. For his job. Certainly not out of any concern for Dean in the first place.

Dean breaks the stare and abruptly chugs his shot, slamming the glass onto the coffee table. “All right,” he says, the alcohol barely affecting him as a seasoned drinker, “my turn. Why did you get demoted?”

Castiel shifts uncomfortably on the couch. “I disobeyed strict instructions from my garrison.”

“Rebel,” Dean says, not able to help the grin stretching his face. “Why did you disobey?”

“I believe you need to take another shot to ask me that question.”

Dean takes a swift drink directly from the bottle. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and looks at Castiel expectantly.

Castiel rolls his shot glass between his hands as he says, “I was once a guardian angel, as you know. Until recently, I was guardian to a girl called Claire Novak. Her parents died in a car accident when she was four, and she’s been passed between foster homes ever since.” He shifts again in his seat, features pinched as he looks at his hands.

“Thirty eight point five days ago there was an… incident,” Castiel continues, “It was while Claire was living with a new set of foster parents in Minneapolis. I was told not to interfere in the incident, despite how much I wanted to. I didn’t listen.” Castiel clutches his glass tighter. “Couldn’t listen.”

Dean is leaning forward on his legs, attention rapt. “What was the incident?” he asks softly.

Castiel clears his throat. Sets the glass down on the table and taps the bottle of alcohol. “My turn to drink.”

Dean nods solemnly and pours the alcohol to the brim of the glass, which Castiel knocks back quickly and abruptly chokes. “What is the name of this disgusting drink?” Castiel asks through gritted teeth and watery eyes.

“Bourbon,” Dean replies. “What a waste of your question.”

“The rules are I can ask a question about you!” Castiel protests.

“It’s a joke, Cas,” Dean says with a fond smile, feeling the alcohol warming his veins.

Castiel blinks, then slowly smiles back. “Oh,” he says softly.

The warmth spreads to Dean’s chest, but he’s not quite sure it’s the alcohol anymore.

“Tell me about your family,” Cas says, rolling the bottom of the shot glass against his leg. The alcohol seems to be working; his normally rigid spine is relaxed, his facial features more open.

“What about my family?”

“About Sam, about your parents… anything.”

It’s easy for Dean to talk about his family. He leans back onto his elbows and happily chats about Sam’s accomplishments as a big-shot lawyer, his wife Jess, how his mother Mary runs a bookstore of rare and discontinued books and items downtown.

“And your father?” Cas asks.

Dean stops, working his jaw. Castiel gives a little gasp, says “Oh that’s right,”, and knocks back another shot. He sets the glass down and looks at Dean expectantly.

“Uh,” Dean responds intelligently, “I don’t want to talk about my dad.”

“But I adhered to the rules.”

“Oh, my _god_.” Dean pinches the bridge of his nose. “Fine. My dad is a dumb old drunk who sits in his house all day and occasionally emerges to gamble the money he doesn’t have away. Happy?”

Cas stares at Dean with an openly sad gaze. “I’m not happy to hear that at all, Dean.”

Dean can’t help the chuckle that wrings out of his chest at the idiom going over Cas’s head—again. He shakes his head and takes another shot, just for the hell of it. “My dad and mom divorced when I was six. After that, he hit the bottom of the bottle and just stayed there. They were soulmates, and not even that saved them.”

Castiel hums thoughtfully. “I am admittedly not well-versed on the statistics of successful soulmate marriages, but I can imagine that divorce is sometimes inevitable even with near-perfect compatibility.”

Dean blinks. “I’m too tipsy to process that sentence.”

“Since you took a drink of the whiskey, do you wish to ask me a question?”

Dean looks down at his glass, the remnants of bourbon dripping down the inside of the glass. “Oh. Sure. Tell me about your angel family.”

Castiel gives a small shrug. “There’s not much to discuss. We have existed for thousands of years, and I know everyone’s name. Each time a star explodes, another one of us is ‘born’, in human terms, so it is a bit hard to keep track of everyone.”

“Whoa,” Dean says, “so it must be pretty crowded up there, if you guys keep popping up like daisies, and never die.”

“Angels aren’t immortal, Dean.”

“Oh. Well I thought they were. What’s the lifespan of an angel?”

“Depends on the quantity of one’s grace. For example, when I was positioned as a guardian angel, I likely had a few thousand more years to live. However, with my grace being depleted to three point five percent of what it once was, I would say I would be lucky to live another hundred.”

“Oh wow.” Dean looks down at his hands, wishing he hadn’t brought up this obviously touchy topic. “That really sucks, Cas.”

“To quote a turn of phrase you often use, ‘I’ll survive’. Please refill my glass.”

Dean can tell that Cas won’t process much more alcohol at this rapid rate, so he makes the shot half the amount of the first few times.

Instead of asking a question after drinking, Cas slides to the floor from the couch and stares despondently at the coffee table. “I feel estranged from my own family,” he admits. “I was never one to obey rules. I would constantly anger my superiors and get reprimanded for interfering with human affairs. Only Anna is my true friend in my ‘family’, but even she makes me feel like an outsider, at times.”

Cas clutches the neck of the bottle and takes a long swig before Dean can react. Castiel’s eyes grow soft. “With Claire, it was the first time I knew what it felt like to love and care for someone—to protect them at all costs, not just because it was my job, but because it was instinctual. I didn’t think twice when I saw her, when—“ He stops abruptly, gritting his teeth. He looks up at Dean, who doesn’t know whether or not it’s dangerous to try and take the bottle away from him. “I’m supposed to ask you a question,” he states.

“Uh, yeah.” Dean clears his throat. “Go ahead, buddy.”

“What is your…” Castiel slumps against the couch, regarding the ceiling with an overdramatically raised eyebrow. “Favorite movie.”

“I guess… Reservoir Dogs?”

“Wrong!” Cas cries, pointing a finger at Dean and slumping over the coffee table. “I know what it is. It’s Star Wars, the fourth episode.”

Dean reaches out to slowly slide the bourbon away from Castiel’s flailing arms. “And what makes you think that?”

“Because you are a dichotomy, Dean Winchester,” Castiel says, wagging a finger in the air, “a dichotomy that no one can explain. You’re patient with the children in your class, yet have no patience for adults. You nearly murder me in the mornings if I talk to you, but at dinner you’re always pleasant and cheerful. Sometimes you tell me that you like more ‘nerdy’ things such as Star Wars, or that show ‘The Baccalaureate’—“

“Bachelorette,” Dean corrects.

“—but around any of your coworkers you pretend to like things that may be more socially acceptable or ‘cool’.” Cas lowers his forehead to the table; poor guy is finally feeling the alcohol. “A dichotomy,” he murmurs into the wood.

“Maybe we should get you some water,” Dean suggests.

“A dichotomy that Lisa Braeden will catch up with faster than I can,” Cas continues, probably not sure of how much he’s rambling. He looks up at Dean with big and ocean-blue eyes. “That’s why she’s your soulmate, Dean. She can understand you better than I. Better than _anyone_.”

“Uh. Okay, sure, Cas.”

Castiel presses his palms against the table and leans forward, eyes imploring. “To be understood is crucial, Dean. To have people—no, a _family—_ that understands you is important. Don’t let yourself be without it.”

“Okay, Cas, I won’t.”

Cas reaches forward and clutches Dean’s arm. “ _Promise_ me.”

“Okay, okay. Geez.”

Nodding, apparently satisfied, Castiel sits back on his heels. He says informatively, “I believe I’m drunk.”

Dean laughs and pours another shot to drink. He says, “Why haven’t you gotten in touch with Claire, if she means so much?”

Cas tucks his chin onto his chest and murmurs, “She doesn’t know me.”

“What do you mean?”

“After the incident, they erased her memories. Her memories of me, specifically.”

Good job Dean, you really stepped into it this time, Dean admonishes himself. “Shit, Cas. I’m so sorry.”

“I just hope that she’s well.”

Dean chews his bottom lip. He can’t handle seeing Cas so small and broken. It may be the drink guiding him, but he crawls on the floor to Cas and sits next to him, close enough to press into Cas’ side. “Benny was my ex,” he says. “We lived here together, in this house. Together for two years. But we weren’t soulmates, obviously, so… it eventually ended.”

Cas turns to frown at Dean. “There’s more to that story.”

“Yes, there is.”

“And you won’t tell me, no matter how many times I ask.”

“No, I won’t.”

Castiel nods, rubbing a hand over his cheek. Sitting this close, Dean can see the stubble from where Cas missed a spot shaving that morning. “Well, thank you for telling me that much.”

“Cas,” Dean begins, but stops when Cas turns to look at him. He’s just so _close._ And his eyes are so goddamn _blue._ “Um.”

“Yes, Dean?”

Does Cas even realize how gorgeous he is? Even with those perpetually dark circles under his eyes and the underwhelming outfits he wears? “Did you….” He clears his throat. “Um.”

Cas doesn’t notice his aborted attempt at speech; he’s looking past Dean, around his shoulder. His eyes brighten. “Dean!” he says with amplified excitement, clutching Dean’s shoulder. “You have more books!”

Dean turns to frown at the small, waist-high bookshelf Cas is referring to; it’s tucked inconspicuously next to the couch. “Yeah, I—hey!” Dean narrowly avoids getting smacked in the head by Cas’ foot as the angel scrambles over him.

He smiles fondly at Cas as he looks over Dean’s books with acute concentration. He runs a slender finger over each of the spines, apprising the books through touch and reading each of their titles.

Dean remembers getting that bookshelf. He found it on the side of the road with a ‘Free’ sign fluttering against its top shelf. Benny put up a fuss about Dean bringing in even more crap into the house and creating more clutter. It ended up in a lonely corner of the living room, inconspicuously shelving Dean’s books that he’s accumulated over the years.

It now seems to come to life under Cas’ hands.

Dean must be _really_ tipsy, because he barely notices that Cas catches Dean staring at him. He barely even realizes that he’s openly staring until Cas asks, “Dean, are these books yours?”

“Uh, you bet,” Dean says, smoothly recovering from the embarrassment of staring at Cas like a love-struck idiot, “every single one.” He crawls over to Cas and sits beside him. He taps the thick hardcover of _Anna Karenina._ “This one’s my favorite.”

“I’ve never read it,” Cas admits, almost sadly.

“Well, here, you can borrow it!” Dean whisks the book off the shelf and enthusiastically shoves it into Cas’ hands. “It’s got everything: drama, romance, intrigue… and the ending is kind of sad and controversial, but in a poignant way. You’d have to read it to understand.”

Cas looks at Dean with something that’s almost a grin lighting up his face. “You seem to really love these books.”

“Uh. I guess, yeah.”

Cas gently puts _Anna Karenina_ on the couch and nods. He then proceeds to grip the small bookshelf on either side, yanking it out of its place against the wall and dragging it into the open floor of the living room.

Dean can’t seem to stop giggling. “Cas, what in the _hell_ are you doing?”

“Putting in a more conspicuous area!” Cas declares. “You need to show everyone that comes into this house how beautiful your books are.”

“Cas, quit it, come sit down.”

Obeying Dean’s instructions once the bookshelf is sitting innocuously in the middle of the room, Cas falls to the floor beside Dean and takes the Jim Beam off the table, giving it a courageous swig. “It’s much better this way,” he decides.

Dean nods, looking at his modest bookshelf sitting so proudly out in the open. “Yeah, I suppose it is.” He knows it’s selfish and very much toeing the line of he and Cas’ budding friendship, however he can’t help but lean into the warmth of Cas’ side while grinning stupidly at the bookcase.

“What was your proposition?” he asks drowsily, his head almost against Castiel’s.

“Hmm?”

“You said earlier that you had a proposition. It had to do with me and Lisa.”

“Oh. I’ve forgotten, now.” Cas closes the space between them and does lean his head against Dean’s.

Dean resolutely ignores the fuzzy feeling in his chest that the contact gives him. “Maybe you’ll remember when you’re sober, buddy.”

“Perhaps.”

And, because Dean’s in a good mood and buzzed and, why the hell not, he pulls his head from Cas’ and leans around to look at him. “Okay, you win.”

“I do?” Cas asks with wide eyes. “What do I win?”

“I’ll go on the date with Lisa. For you, man.”

Cas tilts his head. “Oh?”

“Yeah. You convinced me, okay? I’ll give it a chance.”

Cas should look happier; this is the most leeway Dean’s given the whole soulmate topic since they met. But Cas just frowns and looks down at his bare feet, tucking his legs to his chest. “I appreciate it, Dean.”

“Hey.” Dean claps a hand on Cas’ shoulder and tries to grin widely past the haze of alcohol, to try and cheer Cas up because he seems so small and quiet, now. “That’s what friends are for, right?”

“Friends?” Cas replies, the word seemingly foreign in his mouth.

“Yeah. I’d like to think that we’re friends.”

Cas smiles; _finally_ , a smile. It’s soft and tugs at his chapped, plush lips and reaches the blue of his eyes, making them twinkle a little bit. “I’d like to think so, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the bookshelf is not a metaphor for how cas sees dean and their relationship as a whole no sir definitely not


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok my friends. There are brief mentions to alcoholism in this chapter (John's alcoholism). If anyone wants additional info about this, just message me. But nothing in this story will be too graphic or in depth. It's just something Dean has to deal with, and by proxy, the readers hear about it too.

Castiel rolls over in the bed to look at the clock. Nine-fifteen in the morning. Two hours later than when he and Dean usually leave for school. He almost bolts out of bed to take off in clumsy flight when it suddenly catches up with him that it’s a Saturday.

He falls back onto his pillow and threads his hands through each other to rest on his chest. He stares at the ceiling. There is a small ache in his forehead. If he were fully human, he would have a much bigger headache to complain about from the residual effects of how much alcohol he drank last night.

In fact, he’s surprised that the alcohol had that much effect on him at all.

Memories rush back to him. An increase in his heartrate jolts him forward to sit up in the bed. Last night, he and Dean talked. Extensively. He learned about Benny; he moved a bookshelf to the middle of the room.

Dean had leaned on him, completely at ease, and Castiel felt so comfortable that he could have fallen asleep there, his head against Dean’s…

Castiel blinks. Oh. And he got Dean to agree to a date with Lisa. Begrudgingly, he realizes that he should act fast to figure out when Lisa will be available, before Dean can take his promise back.

Fumbling into his jeans and pulling Dean’s borrowed green Henley over his head, he pads to the kitchen on bare feet as he pulls at his hair to make it less chaotic. He sees Dean by the sink as he rounds the corner, and stops abruptly at the scene.

Dean is hunched over the sink, back heaving with thick breaths. There is shattered glass decorating the countertops; the window above the sink is broken. A broken mug lies smashed on the floor.

“Dean,” Castiel says in alarm, quickly walking to his friend. Dean doesn’t raise his head; instead he keeps staring into the basin of the sink with wild eyes. Castiel touches Dean’s arm hesitantly. “Dean?”

“Leave me alone, Cas,” Dean manages to say through clenched teeth.

“Dean, what can I do?”

“Go.”

“Please, tell me how I can—“

Dean suddenly comes to life, whipping around and shoving Castiel into the counter, arm pushed into his chest. Dean’s other hand comes up to shoulder level, clenched in a fist. “I told you to leave, Cas!” he roars.

Castiel calmly stares Dean down, watching his bloodshot green eyes slowly lose its madness. His erratic breathing makes his whole body shake as he stares wildly at Castiel. They both keep their positions, waiting for the other to move.

Castiel slowly brings a hand up and gently grasps Dean’s wrist, the one that is clenched into a fist. “Dean,” he tries again, “Let’s go to the living room.”

His breathing still erratic, Dean lets Castiel lead him to the couch. Once Dean is sitting, staring aimlessly at the floor, Castiel turns over his palms and rolls up his sleeves to check for any injuries.

“The broken glass doesn’t seem to have injured you,” Castiel concludes.

“Cas.” Dean is suddenly clutching Castiel’s arm, like a lifeline. “You need to call Sam.”

“Where is your phone?”

Dean’s eyes flicker around the room, lost. “I… I don’t know.”

“What do you need me to do?”

“I…” Dean’s tongue dashes across his dry lips, “I need to go to my dad’s.”

“Okay,” Castiel says, “and that is why you need Sam?”

“What? No, _I_ don’t need Sam. I need to call him. I need to tell him to check on Mom, see if she’s…” Dean buries his face into his hands, groaning, “Oh, God.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Castiel rests a gentle hand on Dean’s shoulder. Dean has done the same for him many times, and it’s always brought him comfort. “Tell me what happened, Dean.”

With a heaving sigh, Dean mumbles into his hands, “My dad got drunk last night and went to my mom’s house. Probably wouldn’t leave her alone, so she had to call the cops. Her neighbor just called to tell me what happened, and apparently, they were just full-out _screaming_ and there was sounds like furniture was breaking, or something?” Dean scrubs his hands over his face, letting out a frustrated sound. “My goddamn stupid dad.”

“Has this happened before?”

“Him getting drunk off his ass and doing something stupid?” Dean scoffs. “Of course. Plenty of times.”

“Confronting your mother like that, I mean.”

“If he has, she’s never told us.” Dean lets out a humorless laugh, looking toward the kitchen. “I haven’t lost my temper like that in a while. Usually that’s Sammy’s job, when it comes to my dad. And that was my favorite coffee mug, too.”

“Dean,” Castiel says, clutching his shoulder again to ground him. Dean’s green eyes lock into his. “I can clean up in the kitchen and contact Sam. Go to your father, if you need.”

Dean nods distractedly. He slowly rises to his feet, and Castiel walks back a few steps to give Dean his space. “You know,” he says to the ground as he clenches and unclenches his fist, “I don’t even give a shit if he’s okay or not. A part of me just wants to leave him to rot, after all the shit he’s pulled. After all the grief that he’s caused Mom.”

Castiel says, with all sincerity, “It’s not in your personality to leave your father to his own devices. You’re too good of a man for that.”

His mouth opens slightly as Dean stares at Castiel incredulously. “Thanks, Cas,” he says, softly, and seeming to be caught off guard.

Castiel frowns. Dean should know that he is a good man. He’s one of the best men and brightest souls Castiel has ever seen, in fact.

“I’m sorry that I attacked you before, Cas.”

“You didn’t hurt me, Dean. It’s all right.”

Dean sighs, and nods. He stuffs his hand into a jacket pocket; withdraws his cell phone from it. He looks down at it and scoffs.

Castiel watches his dejected form then scoop up his keys off the kitchen counter and trail out of sight.

 

* * *

 

When Dean returns, the sun is just setting beneath the trees. Castiel sits at the kitchen table with his hands wrapped around a mug that he purchased two point four hours ago in downtown Lawrence. He is so enraptured with the birch tree framed by the window over the sink and the warm glow of the sun filtering between its branches that he barely notices Dean come through the front door.

“You fixed the window,” Dean remarks as he deposits his keys onto the counter.

Castiel fumbles with the mug in his hands, irrationally embarrassed. “Yes.”

Dean scuffs the toe of his boot on the kitchen floor. “And the glass is gone.” He looks at Castiel, then down at the mug. “And that’s new.”

“I didn’t want you to be without one,” Castiel explains, frowning at the mug as if it had done him a disservice. He feels his cheeks becoming warmer. He jumps minutely when Dean claps him on the back.

“Thanks, Cas, that’s nice of ya.”

Castiel nods and watches Dean as he pulls a beer out of the fridge. “How is your father?”

“Don’t want to talk about it.” He leans a hip against the counter, avoiding Castiel’s eyes as he takes a long gulp of beer. His countenance is tired, and his smile has lost its usual shine.

“Is your mother all right?”

Dean sighs. “Yeah. Sam checked in on her. She’s pissed at my dad, but that’s it. And my dad…” Dean laughs sardonically, taking another sip of beer. “Well, he’s just peachy, as always. Telling lies, saying that my mom _asked_ him to come over, so they could talk or some bullshit…” Shaking his head, Dean says firmly, “but I’m done talking about it.”

Castiel nods. He patiently sits in the silence until Dean’s eyes flicker back to his face, and then down at Castiel’s hands. Dean frowns, then setting down the beer in one smooth motion and taking Castiel’s left hand into his.

“Dean, what—“

“You’re bleeding,” Dean states.

Castiel looks down at his hand; his palm is creased with dried-up blood. “I must have cut it while repairing the window,” he muses.

“You didn’t repair it with your grace?”

“I have little left. I need to conserve it for communicating with Heaven.” He feels Dean’s hand tighten around his wrist. He looks up at Dean’s eyes, which are pinched with concern.

“Cas,” he says, licking his lips before continuing, “you really gotta be more careful. I know you’re used to being a fully-powered Energizer angel bunny, but you’re practically human now. You have to pay attention to your body more.”

Castiel’s hand feels suddenly cold when Dean leaves it to lay on the table and walks away. After briefly rummaging in a kitchen drawer, he produces a roll of bandage tape and a tube of antiseptic, then wets a washcloth at the sink. “Dean, this isn’t necessary, really, I’m—“

“Just shut up and let me fix your hand.” Dean pulls a chair beside him, so close that Castiel can feel the heat coming off Dean’s body. Dean takes Castiel’s hand gently into his, rubbing the washcloth delicately over the wound. Castiel is so enamored by the deftness of Dean’s hands, so distracted by his own heartbeat suddenly beating loudly in his ears, that he barely registers that Dean is asking a question.

“Can you repeat that?” he asks, vaguely irritated at how weak and cracked his voice sounds.

“I said, what was your proposal last night?”

Castiel blinks in confusion.

“You said last night that you had a proposal. Then I said that we should do my proposal first: get drunk. Which we did. So, what did you have to propose?”

“Oh.” Castiel frowns thoughtfully at the antiseptic Dean is now rubbing into his skin. It leaves behind a mild sting, although Dean’s fingers against his skin does feel nice. It’s a conflicting feeling.

“Cas?”

Castiel closes his eyes and catches his mind that is intent on once again trailing away. “My proposal was that you go on only one date with Lisa. If, after this one date, you decide that there is no hope or future for the both of you, I promise to leave you alone and report back to Heaven that the mission was a failure.”

Dean raises his eyebrow skeptically. “Really? After just one date?”

“Yes. I know how opposed you are to the idea, but if you tried even once, I thought your mind could perhaps be changed. And, if it wasn’t, then I wouldn’t force the situation anymore.”

“Awfully considerate of you, Cas.” Dean is now rolling the bandage around Castiel’s palm, applying firm but painless pressure. His other hand is carefully cupping Castiel’s wrist; once again, Castiel is distracted by the brush of Dean’s fingertips against his skin.

“Done,” Dean announces. His hands leave Castiel’s; Castiel feels the absence of them immediately. “So, just one date with Lisa, huh?”

Castiel nods, his left hand tightly holding onto the wrist that was just between Dean’s careful fingers.

“Well, if I remember right, I was drunk enough to agree to that last night anyway, right?”

“Yes, I believe so.”

“So. I accept your proposition.”

“Oh. Good.”

Dean continues to stare at him, expectantly. “So… you got her number or something?”

Castiel blinks in confusion and asks dumbly, “For the date—you mean right now?”

“Yeah. I’ll call her up, see if she’s free.”

Castiel silently admonishes himself for feeling disappointed that he and Dean wouldn’t be spending another night together. It’s foolish of him to think that Dean would choose Castiel’s company over his soulmate’s. He pulls the notebook from his pocket, handing Dean the small slip of paper with Lisa’s number scribbled onto it. He feels a heavy tug at his chest as Dean punches the numbers into his phone.

It’s heavier when he realizes that, as Dean sweet-talks his way into a date with a skeptical Lisa over the phone, Castiel will have to observe the date from afar and take notes. It was Heaven’s instruction, should a date happen; mainly, to see how the date goes and if there is enough of a connection for the mission to potentially be a success.

Castiel tries to smile encouragingly when Dean gives him a thumbs-up, still chatting to Lisa over the receiver. The mug feels heavy between his hands.

 

* * *

 

For Dean, no matter what phase in his life, girls have always been a constant. Guys too, of course. They have their merits—and Dean knows those merits well. But there’s just something about a pretty girl that has never failed to cheer Dean up, even through the worst of times.

Dean thinks that he can count this as one of those bad times (having to take care of a drunk father who harasses his mother). Ergo, a date with the ultimate ‘pretty girl’—his soulmate.

The day was bad enough when he found Cas looking gloomy and sad after getting home from his dad’s. It was conflicting enough that he had this itching need to hug Cas and make it better. It was weird enough that while he was holding the angel’s hand, patching up his cut, he realized that he didn’t want to ever let it go. How, when Castiel had a faint blush on his cheeks as Dean cupped his wrist in his palm, Dean wondered what other ways he could get the angel flustered.

Yeah, if he had to stay in that house with Castiel one more minute with his inappropriate thoughts and memories of his drunk father, he would probably go crazy. Or do something that would probably make Heaven smite him with a giant lightning bolt.

Lisa was skeptical on the phone, at first; but after Dean’s persistent charm, she begrudgingly agreed. Dean clapped Cas (who was just staring at that damn mug in his hands like it committed murder) on the back, pulled a clean shirt over his head, and desperately deodorized.

Now, parked in front of Lisa’s apartment building, Dean feels strangely nervous and worried that he plunged into this a bit too quickly. He absently flicks his wipers on and off to push the rain off his windshield while he waits for her to appear.

When Lisa emerges from wide double doored entrance, she is wearing a fashionable fall get-up (knee-high boots and all) and squinting at Dean’s car. Dean rolls down the passenger window to wave her over. She spots him and jogs toward the car, holding her purse over her head to shield her head from the drizzling rain.

Lisa smells like freshly sprayed perfume. Falling into the passenger seat, she says with a smile, “I have to say, I was a bit surprised to get a call from you.”

“Well, I’m full of surprises today,” Dean quips back, putting Baby into drive as Lisa buckles her seatbelt. “You had dinner yet?”

“Nope. Too busy. I’ve only had a couple of crackers today, actually.”

Dean appraises her thin body out of the corner of his eye. “Not some crazy diet, right?”

“Oh, no, my Saturdays are just really busy. I teach yoga classes pretty much all day.”

Dean reflects on his own Saturday: a drunk father in a pile of his own vomit in the middle of the living room and a sad angel at Dean’s kitchen table. “That sucks,” he says.

“Not really. I love doing it.” She taps her fingers against her knee. “I could really go for some sushi.”

“Gross,” Dean immediately announces, then inwardly cringes at his marvelous tact.

“Well, Prince Charming, you suggest something, then.”

“How about a burger?”

Lisa turns her head to stare at him challengingly. “I go to Dempsey’s for burgers all the time.”

“ _Dempsey’s?_ That Irish shit-ho—“ He abruptly shuts his mouth. “Dempsey’s, it is,” he grumbles, veering the quickest way possible to Massachusetts Street.

Dean attempts to be more gentlemanly when they get to the pub by opening the passenger door for her. He gets a strange look from her in return.

The pub has a good enough vibe for a Saturday night; it’s just far from Dean’s style. For one, he had a horrible experience on St. Patrick’s Day in this very place that involved a very rambunctious date and green glitter being thrown around by equally rambunctious patrons; he was finding glitter in his hair and clothes for days. He tells Lisa this, as they’re being seated at their booth. It earns him a delicate, tinkling laugh and breaks some of the tension.

She has a nice laugh. It makes Dean realize that he’s never heard Cas laugh. What could Dean do to coax a laugh out of that stoic angel? Probably something more intricate than an awkward date story.

“I’m just glad that you’re not a vegan,” Dean says after the waitress takes their orders. “I don’t know if I could be soulmates with someone who doesn’t enjoy all the meat that life has to offer.” An image of Cas enthusiastically eating Dean’s burgers on their first night meeting each other springs uninvited into his mind.

Lisa fakes a shudder. “I could never do it,” she says, “Most of my meals have protein. The other yoga instructors I work with like to ‘eat clean’, which I guess involves eating no animal products whatsoever, but that would just make me more bitter towards life.”

“My brother, Sam, tried to be a vegetarian once while he was in college,” Dean says, fiddling with the salt shaker on their table. He grins. “That ended badly.”

“Oh no, how?”

“He lasted for five months, until I made him this really juicy, really cheesy burger and a rack of prime ribs. He couldn’t resist. He ate all of it, but his stomach couldn’t take it so he ended up puking all over my bathroom. It was disgusting.”

As Lisa laughs at the story, Dean’s head flickers through images of all the times he found his dad in the bathroom, after a bender; the times where he thought he couldn’t find a pulse under his dad’s skin.

“Dean?”

He blinks at her. “Sorry, what?”

She frowns at him. “Are you okay?”

“Oh. Yeah. Sorry, long day.” He leans forward on the table, forcing a grin on his face. “I’m fine.”

She smiles in return, but it doesn’t carry its previous brightness. “Dean…” She looks down at her hands. “I need to tell you something. To clear things up.”

Dean sits back against the plushy booth and braces himself. The start of that conversation never brings good news. “Yeah?”

“I know that me springing myself on you in that bar, all those weeks ago, wasn’t fair. I just wanted to get to know you, and see what you were like.” She sighs and leans back in her seat, twisting a strand of hair between her fingers. “The truth is, before that, I never actively looked for you either. When I got the tattoo I just flat-out ignored it. But my friends told me that I should at least _meet_ you, just to see if not knowing you was worth giving up… And that’s why I went to meet you in that bar.”

Dean asks, “Why are you telling me all this?”

Lisa takes a shaky sip of water and sets it onto the table, running her fingers through the condensation. “I didn’t want Heaven to get involved. For this cupid to come and try to mediate things… I didn’t want that.”

“I know that.”

She frowns at him, head slightly tilted. It reminds Dean of Cas. “You do?”

“Yeah. The cupid told me. Well, _Cas_ told me. That’s his name.”

“His name?” Her mouth is slightly agape. “So you’ve talked to him? Even after you reacted so negatively to him in the bar a couple of weeks ago?”

“Uh, yeah.” Dean scratches the back of his head, looking away. “He’s kind of… living at my house.”

Lisa stares at him for a beat, then tilts her head back and bursts into peals of laughter. “Oh… oh my god! What in the _hell_?”

“What’s so funny about it?”

“I don’t know,” Lisa huffs out, wiping moisture from her eye, “it’s not that funny, it’s just… how in the world is this our life?” She dissolves into giggles again. “I just. Nobody gets Heavenly interference with their love lives. It’s almost unheard of, unless you’re like, psycho, and here we are… with…” She doubles over and her laughter resumes, “We’re stuck with a _cupid._ At your. _House._ ”

Dean shrugs, still missing the point. “I guess it is kind of funny, from an outside perspective,” he offers.

“So,” she says, finally settling down, “is he a good roommate?”

“He helps me do the dishes every night. And he’s quiet. But he insists on following me everywhere, like a damn puppy. Apparently, Heaven told him to ‘observe’ me or something.” In fact, Dean’s surprised that Cas isn’t on this date now with him and Lisa, intently in Dean’s face and taking notes on his behavior.

“Is he annoying, following you around like that?”

Dean reflects on Cas with his intent blue eyes and disheveled hair sitting quietly in the back of his classroom while Dean teaches. He thinks about how nice it was nice to grin at Cas when Dean said something that made the kids in his class laugh, and see Cas not-quite-smiling back at him. He thinks about their dinners, their conversations, their friendship that had stubbornly bloomed in the past few weeks through the cracks of a tenuous situation.

He can’t even fight the smile that comes to his face when he remembers Cas pulling that damn bookshelf to the middle of the room, face alit with determination and his movements slightly wobbly because of the bourbon. “He’s not annoying at all,” he admits softly.

When Lisa gives him a strange look, Dean quickly changes the subject from Cas. He learns, over their burgers, that Lisa is also a nurse that juggles her time between random shift schedules and yoga instructing. He also learns that if teaching yoga paid enough, she would commit her time fully to that. She has a dog, two older sisters, and parents that have been happily married for thirty-five years.

“And your family?” Lisa asks, popping a French fry into her mouth, “Besides your brother? Got anybody else?”

Dean clears his throat. “A mom. Mary. She lives here, in Lawrence. She runs her own business, actually: Winchester Rare and Valuable Books and Items. It’s downtown.”

“It sounds cool,” Lisa grins. “I’ll have to check it out sometime.”

“I can take you,” Dean says distractedly. As Lisa smiles wider at that idea, he thinks that maybe Cas would like to visit Mary’s bookshop, too.

He briefly debates mentioning John. But the thought of Lisa, with her sweet and even temperament, meeting John, rough and prickly around the edges and smelling like Jack and piss, makes Dean’s stomach clench.

“Do you feel forced into this?”

Dean lifts his head from his thoughts to look at Lisa. “Huh?”

She waves her hand between them. “This whole soulmate thing. The whole concept doesn’t sit well with me either, to be perfectly honest. My parents aren’t actually soulmates, and their marriage is one of the best I’ve ever seen. I don’t think a soulmate is your only way to be-all-end-all happiness. But… maybe we could just go on a couple of dates, like this? Get to know each other? With no pressure involved.”

Dean smiles, feeling something he didn’t even know was tight unclench in his chest. “That sounds good to me.”

Pretty girls have always been a constant in Dean’s life. But at the end of their date, when he drops Lisa back off at her apartment and kisses her softly, tasting the raspberry mixed drink she drank early, he feels no usual spark or flare of desire. While whispering goodnight to him, she looks at him with eyes deep and brown; all Dean can think about are piercing blue ones.

As he drives home, he feels no lighter than he did that morning. He wants to see Cas, have a few drinks again. Maybe they could talk more about Cas’ angel family and Claire. Maybe Dean can study Cas’ eyes a little more and figure out just what kind of blue he would describe them as.

The thought of opening the door to the nerdy little cupid sitting disheveled on his couch with that cute not-smile on his face brings a smile to Dean’s own face that lasts the whole way home.

That is, until he comes home to a dark and very Cas-less house.

 

* * *

 

When Dean drives away for his date with Lisa that night, Castiel has no choice but to shroud himself in invisibility with what little grace he has left and follows, knowing he has no choice to do anything else.

He sees Lisa scurry toward the car, effortlessly beautiful, brown hair bouncing to frame her symmetrical face.

He sees Dean and Lisa laughing with each other over burgers (Dean’s favorite food; he must be pleased that his soulmate has the same taste as him). Dean’s smile becomes more genuine with each passing word, each smile, each flirtatious graze of Lisa’s hand over his arm.

He sees Dean and Lisa kiss at the end of the night; one hand with his fingers tangled in her hair and cupping her face, the other gently touching her waist. Castiel sees that Dean is at peace in this moment; more than he ever has been since he’s known him.

Castiel is shaking as he walks back to Dean’s home; it must be the rain. His practically-human body doesn’t do a good job at protecting him against the weather. His chest feels painfully clenched when he thinks of Dean’s flirtatious smile on Lisa; his eyes hungry with desire for her. He stumbles in a pot hole, mud splashing against the left leg of his jeans, as he thinks of the feelings Dean must be developing for her.

He stops at a bus stop, sitting on the bench to catch his breath. For some reason, it’s coming from his lungs laboriously, and his eyes feel warm and tingly. He stares at the puddle covering his sneakers as he attempts to level his breathing. He barely notices a bus drive up in front of him, sighing as it settles into the asphalt.

The doors open; he lifts his head and blinks the rain from his eyes. A bus driver raises his eyebrow in inquiry.

Fumbling his hand in his pockets, Castiel feels a couple of quarters leftover from when he bought the mug that morning. That damned _mug._ Castiel doesn’t want to go back to Dean’s house and face it.

His sneakers squeak as he stumbles onto the bus, feeding the quarters into the coin tray. He sits in the very back of the empty bus, settling against the window. Content to sit there forever, and forget the events of the day, he looks at the city lights and people whooshing by on the sidewalk, mind blissfully blank and numb from the cold.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *whispers* I promise things get better for Cas.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> attempting to post this with half my cat's butt on the keyboard. it's a difficult task. please blame him for any typos.

“Dean, you need to calm down.”

“ _Calm down?_ ” Dean asks incredulously into the receiver. He’s tugging a pair of pants onto his legs with one hand, holding the phone to his ear with the other. “I am way past the point of ‘calming down’, Sam.”

“You just told me you want to call in a missing persons case. For an _angel._ ”

“An angel with no grace, at least so he says, and one that’s been missing since Saturday night! Anything could have happened!”

“Dude, it’s Monday morning. He’s only been gone for a day. Relax.”

“Stop telling me what do,” Dean growls into the phone. “Something’s wrong with Cas, and I need to do something about it!”

“He’s not your responsibility, Dean. He probably just went back to Heaven or something.”

Dean stalks into the kitchen, packing extra chips in his lunchbox and an industrial bag of carrot sticks. He begins rummaging around the cupboards for anything quick he can grab.

“What are you doing?” Sam asks suspiciously, after Dean has been silent for too long.

“Nothin’.”

“You’re packing him food, aren’t you?”

“No,” Dean scoffs, guiltily looking at the loaf of cinnamon raisin bread that’s clutched in his hands.

“Dean, trust me, he’s _fine._ He’s an angel. Angels just kind of do their own thing. My guess is he’ll be back within the week to keep observing you, or whatever. I thought you didn’t want him around, anyway?”

“Well, I don’t want him dead on the side of the road, either,” Dean grumbles into the phone.

Sam sighs. “You really underestimate people's abilities to take care of themselves, don't you? Speaking of which, how was Dad when you saw him yesterday?”

“Oh, look at the time. Gotta go to work, bye Sammy!” The clatters the cell phone to the counter as Dean drops it and pushes the red hang-up button on the screen hastily. Last thing he needs is a heart-to-heart conversation with Sam about the sorry state of their father.

To distract himself from Cas’ absence, Dean went over to John’s house again yesterday afternoon to cook him a meal and clean a room or two. John was in ‘angry drunk’ mode—grabbing Dean’s arm and demanding why he wouldn’t take John’s side over his mother’s. Why as a child he didn’t want to come live with John, and hid behind his mother instead ‘like a coward’.

Dean’s had better weekends.

Not even his pretty successful date with Lisa brings any light to the situation.

After pulling up to the elementary school (an hour and a half before his class starts, therefore ample time to look for Cas), he jobs to the entrance and raps on the door for the janitor to unlock it for him, impatiently tapping his fingers against his leg.

“Anybody come here already?” he asks in a rush when the man opens the door.

The janitor shrugs, flipping open a garbage bag to put into a nearby can.

Dean walks quickly to the teacher’s lounge. It's dark and the blinds are pulled. Seeing no one, he goes to his classroom and peeks in the small slit of a window in the door; no one. He checks the garden in the back of the school, the bathrooms—he even walks down the street to poke his head into a nearby coffee shop, where he and Cas have gotten coffee before..

No Cas.

Benny used to do this sort of shit all the time to Dean. Whenever they would get into one of their bigger fights, Dean would wake up to an empty house, only to discover that Benny spent the whole night at the diner wedged in between a chair and a wall. Like Cas, Benny was stubborn and stoic until he disappeared out of nowhere, having had an emotional outbreak that had been building silently for days. And, every time, Dean would be there to pull Benny back out of it.

Dean bursts through the double doors of the school, resolutely deciding _not_ to make comparisons between Benny and Cas anymore.

Or to think of Benny at all, for that matter.

Dean returns to the teacher’s lounge, defeated. He is throwing his bag and lunchbox onto the table to put his head in his hands when he hears a familiar gravelly voice.

“Hello, Dean.”

“Cas?” Dean whirls around in his chair to see a very disgruntled-looking angel lying on the couch, his sweatshirt over his arms like a blanket. He’s rubbing his eyes, like he just emerged from sleep.

Dean stands over the couch and takes Cas’ arm, firmly shaking it. “Where the hell have you _been_?”

Castiel blinks at him, hair sticking up in every which direction. “I realize this is an inappropriate place to sleep, but the back door to the school was open last night, so I thought it best to stay here until I could observe you in the morning.”

Dean pats Cas’ clothes; soggy and wet. His skin is clammy to the touch and there is a grey quality about Cas’ face that Dean doesn’t like at all. “Cas,” he says, a little more gently this time, “where have you been?”

“On a bus. Then a park. Then here.”

“You mean you’ve been outside all this time?” Dean asks, feeling an edge of anger in his tone.  
“It was raining all weekend. Do you mean to tell me that you stayed out in the weather all day yesterday when you could have been staying with me? Warm and dry?”

Cas nods, licking his very dry lips. “I thought of that. But I felt as if I had overstayed my welcome.”

“Huh?”

“Your date with Lisa. I didn’t know if you needed privacy.”

“Why in the hell would I need—“ Dean cuts himself off, sighing explosively. “Cas. You said yourself that you don’t have much grace. You can’t go sleeping on park benches anymore, okay? Especially since you don’t even have a damn coat.”

Cas is now sitting up, frowning at his hands clasped in his lap. “I don’t mean to be a burden,” he admits softly.

Dean takes in Cas’ blank expression and his bedraggled clothing. Even for an angel, this is nutty behavior. Cas is displaying self-destructive, and quite frankly, stupid tendencies—and yes, he isn’t Dean’s responsibility, like Sam said, but Dean’s determined to help his friend in whatever way he can.

“C’mon,” Dean instructs, hauling Cas to his feet by his arm. “I have time before my class starts. I’m takin’ you home.”

“I’m fine here.” Cas shrugs his arm out of Dean’s grasp.

“Cas, your clothes are all damp. People are going to think I brought a homeless person into the building.”

Cas stares back at him challengingly. “I fail to see how this is my problem.”

“Fail to see—are you—“ Dean sputters. He pinches the bridge of his nose and squeezes his eyes shut to the headache coming on from Cas’ stubbornness. He grits out, “Fine. Here.” Shrugging out of his leather jacket, he takes Cas’ arms and forces them into the sleeves. “At least wear this so you don’t die of cold.”

Castiel looks unfairly sexy in Dean’s jacket as he looks up with his wild hair to look at Dean confusedly, but Dean’s not about to admit that. “Thank you,” he says softly.

Dean rolls his eyes and sets his bag down onto the couch, rummaging around for the snacks he packed earlier that morning. Handing Castiel the bag of carrots, he says firmly, “New rule, okay? You live with me, you _tell me_ where you’re going. No disappearing on me. I was worried about you.”

Cas asks around a carrot he’s munching, “Worried about me?”

“Yeah, dummy. If you die on the job, well then that makes it my fault, doesn’t it?”

“Hardly, Dean.”

“Still.” Dean sits onto the couch, patting the seat cushion next to him. Cas sits down hesitantly. “And we’re going to get you a coat after school today, okay? Then you won’t freeze your ass off. It’s supposed to get below freezing tomorrow.”

Castiel nods. He takes the cinnamon bread that Dean offers him and dutifully eats two slices. Dean wonders if Cas had anything to eat at all yesterday. There's dark circles under Cas’ eyes. Cas never looks ‘happy’, by definition, but he certainly didn’t look like death warmed over the last time Dean saw him.

“Hey, Cas? Is there anything you…” Dean cuts himself off with a frustrated sigh. He’s not an angel therapist. Rubbing the back of his neck, he continues, “Anything you want to talk about?”

Castiel blinks at him. “Why would you think there would be?”

“Well, in my experience people don’t just disappear like that unless something upset them.”

Cas thoughtfully studies the last bite of his bread clutched between his fingers. “I suppose I was upset.”

“Okay. Wanna elaborate?”

“I…” Cas licks his lips. His lips look painfully dry. Dean mentally adds chapstick on his list of things to buy for Cas. “I had to think about things.”

“And you couldn’t have thought about them at home?”

“I felt strange.”

“Again: you couldn’t have just felt strange under a roof and surrounded by four walls?”

Castiel shakes his head, closing his eyes with a sigh. “You don’t understand.”

“Try to make me understand.”

Rolling the piece of bread between his fingertips, Cas admits, “The last few days have been more emotionally taxing than I have been used to. The alcohol inhibited my judgment, and my grace being as low as it is… it’s frustrating, to say the least.” Cas finally looks at Dean. “I’ve realized that I can’t even communicate with Heaven without them contacting me first, with what little grace I have. Much less go back there by myself.”

Dean whistles lowly. “Man, Cas, I’m sorry.”

Cas shrugs. “I should have expected it.”

“Are you feeling ‘emotional taxed’ because of the whole Claire thing?”

Visibly stiffening, Cas says, “I don’t wish to talk about it.”

“Okay.” Dean looks at his hands and shuffles his feet nervously on the ground, across the faded grey carpet that decorates the floor of the break room. “But you know, I’m here to talk whenever you need it.”

Cas looks at him, expression softening, even if just a fraction. “Thank you, Dean.”

“Hey!” Dean grins up at Cas, an idea popping into his head. “I know what’ll cheer you up! I think you’ll be happy to know that my date with Lisa went well. _Really_ well,” he adds with a grin. Ok, maybe not _that_ well, Dean thinks, but it seems that Cas needs a bit of cheering up as far as his job on Earth goes.

Cas’ expression hardens. He looks straight ahead. “Oh.”

“Oh, shit, not like that,” Dean laughs nervously. Cas is clearly uncomfortable by the implication of sex with Lisa. “Sorry, not _that_ well. But, uh, it was okay. She’s nice. And she is kind of cautious about this whole soulmate thing, too. We’re taking it slow, seeing where things go.”

“That’s agreeable to hear,” Cas says through tight lips.

Dean tilts his head and pokes his face under Cas’, to meet his eyes. “Hey. I thought you would be happy about this.”

“I am happy.”

“Sure doesn’t look like it.”

Cas’ shoulders slump. He looks at Dean, finally, with an exasperated expression. “I’m tired, Dean. Forgive me if I don’t exude as much excitement as you do about the whole affair.”

“Hey, _you’re_ the one that pushed me into this date. This is your job that you’re trying to succeed at. And I’m trying to tell you that you _are_ , okay? Lisa and I will probably hit it off so well in the next few dates, you can go back to Heaven and reap all the rewards of doing a job well done!”

Cas abruptly rises to his feet and straightens Dean’s jacket aggressively. “Yes. That is true. The first bell will ring in approximately thirty minutes. We should go to your classroom so you can prep for your day.”

Dean blinks up at him, sinking further into the couch. There’s a strange tension dancing off Cas’ body. “Uh, sure, Cas. Sounds good.”

 

* * *

 

When Castiel was part of her garrison, Naomi had always informed him—had never let him forget—that he feels an unhealthy amount of emotion compared to the rest of the angels.

His depleted grace is causing this problem to increase tenfold. Without his grace to stifle them, these emotions these unhealthy amounts of emotion are causing physiological responses that Castiel doesn’t know how to interpret.

When Dean brings him shopping for ‘weather appropriate’ clothing to expand his wardrobe (including a leather jacket, boots, and warm cardigans), Castiel’s heartbeat keeps increasing at alarming rates whenever Dean reaches out to adjust the collars on the clothes he tries on.

When Castiel observes a coffee date between Dean and Lisa on Wednesday afternoon, Castiel’s heart clenches painfully as he records observations of their relationship in his notebook.

During his nightly dinners with Dean, a time he once found calming, he finds himself tripping over his words inexplicably whenever Dean flashes a smile at him over the table.

He explains his worries to Anna when she calls his cell phone to ask how things are going.

“You won’t like what my opinion is,” she admits.

“Why not?” Castiel is sitting in the Impala, waiting for Dean to pay for gas inside the station.

“I don’t think it’s an angelic problem.”

“Then what is it?”

“Sounds like you’ve been hit by the dreaded Dean Winchester curse!” another voice chimes, tinny as if far away.

“Is that Charlie?” Castiel asks.

“Oh, yes, I forgot to tell you: you’re on speaker phone.”

Castiel pinches the bridge of his nose, eyes closed, and sighs. “Anna, how did you even get this cell phone number? I was lead to believe by Naomi that only she and a select group of cupids knew the number.”

“Charlie hacked into Heaven’s computer database and found it for me. She’s really good at that kind of stuff.”

“Didn’t even know Heaven had computers,” Castiel says thoughtfully.

“One of the easiest data boards I’ve hacked into!” Charlie calls.

“Charlie, what do you mean by the ‘Dean Winchester curse’?” Castiel dares to ask her.

Charlie laughs. “That’s what I call poor ladies and gents that fall into his trap. Many have tried to love him, few have succeeded. In fact, the only real relationship I think he’s ever been in is with Benny, but there’s been a string of people he’s fooled around with and never called again—a couple of teachers on our faculty hate his guts for that reason actually—“

“Charlie,” Castiel cuts in firmly. “I don’t understand what this has to do with me.”

“Okay. Sorry.” He hears Charlie take a deep breath. “You’re falling under the spell. You know, crushing on him? I believe the scientific term is twitterpated.”

“That is my opinion as well,” Anna chimes into the phone.

Castiel frowns at Dean, who he can see in the window of the gas station, the wrinkles on the corner of his eyes pinched as he laughs with the gas clerk. “I am not ‘twitterpated’.”

“Castiel.” Anna’s voice seems closer now; the phone must be off the speaker. “We both know that you have a history of getting too involved with your job and taking it far too seriously. With Claire, you treated her as a daughter. Now, with Dean, you are probably thinking that the romantic choice should be you, rather than his soulmate.”

“That’s absurd.”

“Not if you think about it. You’ve been spending all this time observing him, probably talking with him about deep emotional reasons as to why he didn’t want anything to do with a soulmate in the first place—that’s easy to get lost in. It’s probably why Naomi gave you this job; she knew you would become emotionally incapacitated and fail.”

Castiel sets his mouth in a hard line, biting back the urge to protest. He knows that Anna isn’t completely wrong. But… “I’m not emotionally compromised because of Dean.”

“Okay. If you say so. But be careful, please? What happened with Claire is still fresh, and you don’t have your grace to defend against that grief. Just, be careful.”

Castiel nods. When he remembers that she can’t see him, he reiterates, “I promise that I will.” He sees Dean jogging toward the car, unzipped jacket billowing from the strong September gale. “I have to go.”

“Take care of yourself, okay?” Anna says. “I’ll try to come visit you at Charlie’s work sometime; she doesn’t usually let me come, because of the school’s guest policies. But I’ll try.”

Castiel has barely said goodbye to her when the Impala door groans open and Dean tumbles into the driver’s seat. “I got you some chapstick,” he says, cheeks blushed from the cold and eyes sparkling. He reaches out and playfully taps Castiel’s bottom lip. “For those chapped lips of yours,” he explains with a wink.

Castiel represses the full-body shiver that comes from Dean’s fingertip touching the soft skin of his lip. He tells himself it’s just the cold.

“So, I have another date with Lisa on Friday night,” Dean announces, turning the key in the ignition.

Castiel stiffens. “Wonderful.” He tries to sound like he gives a damn, but his voice comes out wooden.

“Does that mean you’ll be able to go back to Heaven soon?”

Castiel resists the sting that Dean’s words cause. “It’ll increase the probability of that outcome, yes.”

“Okay. Because that’s what you want, right?”

“What do I want?”

“To go back to Heaven.”

“Oh.” Castiel fingers the blue knit hat that Dean bought him, turning it over and over in his hands. “I suppose so.”

Dean stops at a red light and drums his hands nervously against the steering wheel. “Is that why you’ve been acting weird lately?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Well, not that you were a chatterbox before, but you’ve been quiet all week. And I can only assume it’s because you’re sick of me and want to don on the white toga again and go dance with your angel buddies.”

“We wear clothes just as you do in Heaven. Not togas.”

“Okay, but you get what I mean, right?”

Castiel sinks lower in his seat. “I apologize for any inconvenience I’m causing you with my silence this week.”

“Goddamn it, Cas, I didn’t mean it that way.”

“Then what did you mean? Is this the conversation where you tell me to leave you alone and get out of your life, just like you were all of last week?”

“Whoa, slow down! Why in the hell are you getting so defensive?”

Castiel, knowing full well that he is being petulant, crosses his arms over his chest and stares out his window at the houses passing by. “I’m not defensive.”

Dean’s jaw clenches. “I was a dick last week, okay, Cas? I should have given you the benefit of the doubt. But I’m not asking you to leave. I thought that by now that we’re….” He waves his hand between them aimlessly, “I dunno. Friends.”

 “Friends?” Castiel tastes the foreign word in his tongue. Claire called him her ‘best friend’ a few times during her life. He researched the definition for this idiom, but found the description never fit what he felt for her. He thinks that maybe the word ‘friend’ could apply to Dean.

“Yeah, friends,” Dean is saying, “and you know what friends do? Tell each other what’s on their mind. And what the hell crawled up their butt so that they ran away from that said friend over the weekend and then ignored him for days afterwards.”

“Nothing has penetrated my—“

“Jesus, Cas, you know what I mean!”

Frowning steadily at his hat, Castiel says, “I told you that I felt strange. That is why I didn’t return to the house that weekend, and why things are difficult now.”

“Strange?” Dean scoffs. “Cas, buddy, in human speak we call this a bad mood.”

Castiel turns his frown to Dean, who is looking at him with a glint of amusement in his eye. “Angels don’t have bad moods. Or moods at all.”

“Well, hate to break it to you, but that’s what this looks like.” Dean tells him. “And when this happens to humans, they usually tell their _friends_ —“ Dean holds his arm over his head and points dramatically at himself, “—what is bothering them.”

Castiel purses his lips into a tight line. He knows that the solution to this problem is _not_ to describe his emotions to Dean. That would be giving more attention to the emotions, and thus a greater likelihood of them overwhelming Castiel. “I have nothing to say.”

Dean pulls into the driveway of his house; Castiel hadn’t even noticed their arrival. “Fine, be that way,” he mutters as he slams the car into park and angrily takes his keys out of the ignition.

Rather than following Dean inside the house, Castiel continues to contemplate his hat. He feels guilty for the way he is treating Dean. But he knows that it’s all temporary. Whatever friendship he forges with Dean will be snatched away as soon as Heaven deems his mission complete. He’ll return to Heaven, have his grace restored, and continue to fight for Claire’s memories and safety. There will be no room for Dean.

And, with Lisa’s love, there will be no room for Castiel.

With a low curse, Castiel shoves open the passenger door, hat balled up in his hand, and strides determinedly away from his thoughts.

As he walks through the front door, he sees Dean and a blonde woman standing in the hallway, talking in fast and hushed tones.

Castiel shutting the door makes a sound that causes both to turn. Dean’s dark look seems to clear when he sees Castiel, and the blonde woman raises an eyebrow curiously.

“Is this him?” she asks, her voice hushed.

Dean nods, walking to Castiel and putting an arm around his shoulders. Castiel stiffens under Dean’s touch. “Yeah, mom, this is my very own personal cupid. Mary, meet Castiel. Cas, meet Mary.”

For lack of knowledge of what else to do, Castiel wiggles his arm out from under Dean’s and holds his hand forward in greeting. “Hello.”

“So there really is a cupid,” Mary says. “I thought Sam was just pulling my leg.” Instead of shaking Castiel’s outstretched hand, she slaps Dean soundly across the arm. “Why didn’t you tell me what was going on with you?”

“Mom,” Dean whines in protest, rubbing the spot where she struck, “it wasn’t a big deal. I didn’t want to bother you, with all the stuff that is going on with Dad and everything...”

Mary rolls her eyes. “For God’s sake.” She finally takes Castiel’s hand, but Castiel detects that her smile isn’t completely genuine. “Hello, Castiel. It’s good to meet you. I hope my son,” she eyes Dean suspiciously, “has been a good host to you.”

“Yes, ma’am. Very much.”

“Oh, God no, please call me Mary.” She hovers a hand over her mouth. “Shit. Should I not be swearing in front of you? Oh. I just did it again, didn’t I?”

Castiel shakes his head to cease her nervous rambling. “I don’t mind.”

“Well, that’s a relief. Because Dean swearing like a sailor? He got it from me.” She glares at Dean and smacks him on the arm again. “Come on. Help me make dinner.”

Dean is jolted from staring at Castiel and stares at her miserably. “Dinner? Are you—“

“I already invited Sam and Jess. They’ll be here in an hour. I was thinking homemade pizzas. What do you think?” she directs the question at Castiel.

Castiel shrugs minutely. “Pizzas are traditionally pleasant,” he offers, not sure why his opinion matters.

“You’ve been feeding him, right?” Mary chastises Dean.

“For Christ’s sake, Mom, _yes_!” Dean huffs, throwing up his hands and stalking to the kitchen.

Mary winks at Castiel. “I like giving him a hard time. Takes him down a notch.”

Castiel awkwardly nods in response.

As he sits at the table and watches Mary and Dean cook dinner, he feels like an unwanted intruder on a private family scene.

They work in a well-rehearsed rhythm: Dean handing Mary green peppers to chop with one hand while he stirs sizzling ground sausage in the frying pan with the other, Mary chopping garlic and brushing it into the pan from the cutting board without Dean even requesting it. They do this all the while discoursing and occasionally laughing about their day to each other. Castiel can see that they have made this meal countless times together.

He remembers Dean telling him about he and his mom cooking in the kitchen together. That it was one of his strongest memories from growing up.

Castiel didn’t have strong childhood memories of his own to offer Dean in return.

The doorbell rings after Dean places the last pizza in the oven to cook; Mary greets Sam and presumably Jess at the door with open arms and a wide smile. Sam enters the kitchen, and Dean proceeds to wildly tousle Sam’s hair and gripe at him for telling Mary about Dean’s soulmate problem. Sam pushes Dean off and awkwardly looks at Castiel sitting at the table, giving a small wave.

Not knowing what else to do, Castiel raises a hand in return. He stays at the table while the family talks loudly in the kitchen.

“Are you Cas?”

Castiel blinks at the girl standing to the left of the table; he hadn’t even noticed her approach. “Yes,” he responds, nodding his head in greeting. “I’m assuming you’re Sam’s soulmate?”

She laughs; it’s pleasant and relaxes Castiel a fraction. “Yeah, I’m Jess.” She sits at the table and leans forward, whispering conspiratorially, “You’re really a cupid, right? From Heaven? It’s not all a big prank someone is playing on Dean?”

“No, it’s all quite real,” Castiel says, suppressing an exasperated sigh.

Jess proceeds to ask him all sorts of personal questions about Heaven that he can’t answer. Eventually Dean comes over and playfully bats a towel on her head, chiding her for not helping in the kitchen and giving Cas the third degree. Castiel doesn’t know what the last phrase means, but Dean winks at him after he says it, so it must be something playful.

Castiel can tell that Dean’s spirits are much higher than they have been in the past few days. Castiel’s ‘bad mood’ and his presence in general has brought Dean down; has made Dean tenser. With his family there, he lights up the room.

Dean’s life will no doubt be much brighter when Castiel returns to Heaven, permanently leaving Dean alone to manage his own relationship with Lisa. The thought of Castiel leaving this house, of losing his routine of spending dinners with Dean and having afternoon coffee with Charlie—the thought of having no one to spend time with in Heaven like he has the past two weeks—clenches his heart painfully.

Before the Winchesters start setting the table, Castiel rises to his feet. He knows that he’s already overstayed his welcome for the family dinner.

Mary practically materializes beside him, pushing him back down into the chair with a firm hand on his shoulder. “You’re hungry, right?” she asks him with a smile, placing a plate in front of him.

“I don’t want to intrude,” Castiel responds. “I will go elsewhere.”

Setting a fork and napkin on either side of his plate, Mary tilts her head in Dean’s direction. “I think Dean would be very upset with you if you left without warning. We know what happened last time you did that.”

Castiel feels a warmth to his cheeks. “I didn’t mean to cause him stress.”

Mary sits down beside him. “I know you didn’t. But Dean likes to know the whereabouts and well-being of the people he cares about.” She pats his hand, her smile becoming tight. “And he calls you his friend, so…”

“Do you not approve of him being my friend?”

Her smile drops, clearly caught off-guard by his blunt question. Before she can say anything, Dean and Sam tumble into the dining room with steaming pizzas balanced precariously on either of their hands.

Dean says something loudly obnoxious in Italian that is poorly translated and ridiculous; Sam stifles a laugh, as if he doesn’t want to admit that he finds his brother funny.

Castiel remains a silent observer throughout dinner. No one seems to mind or acknowledge it. Jess talks about the new shift schedule that the hospital has assigned to her and other nurses and how it’s causing people to rumble about a possible strike. Sam describes his new case to them—a nearby forest that he’s fighting to preserve—and the new building that they are moving his law firm to.

Mary talks about her small and local bookstore and how its profit margin is finally in the black this year.

Dean talks about his students, all the while smiling wildly at Castiel.

Castiel has no idea why Dean would be smiling at _him_. Not when all Castiel has offered Dean in the past week is unnecessary stress.

He finds that despite the illogical situation, he can’t help but smile back.

“So, Dean,” Sam says as he wrangles cheese dripping from a pizza slice into his mouth, “how was your date with Lisa?”

Dean’s eyes fling from Castiel’s to Sam’s. He abruptly shifts his legs under the table, his knee hitting a table leg and clattering the dishes. “Uh, fine,” he says, apparently attempting to sound casual, “nothing to report.”

“You went on a date with your soulmate?” Mary asks, her pizza slice stopping its journey in mid-air.

Jess claps her hands in delight and gasps, “Ha! Pay up, Mary, I won the bet!”

“It’s not a big deal,” Dean says, rolling his eyes.

 “I thought you didn’t want to go down this path,” Mary says as she presses a five-dollar-bill into Jess’ hand.

“Well, Cas had a point,” Dean replies with a gesture in said cupid’s direction, “which is that it can’t hurt to just try. So, I’m trying Anyway, Lisa is skeptical about the whole thing, too, so we’re just taking things slow.”

“Uh-huh,” says Mary with a raised eyebrow. Cas wilts under Mary’s disapproving frown shot in his direction.

“What? We are!”

“Like the dozens of people you ‘took it slow’ with before, Dean?” Sam teases.

Dean falls back in his chair, arms crossed. “I hate all of you.”

“Well, I for one think that this is a good thing,” Jess pipes in. “Like Dean said, it can’t hurt to at least _try_.”

“Finally, someone on my side. Thank you, Jess.”

“And besides,” Jess continues, snaking an arm around Sam’s and pulling him affectionately into her side, “finding your soulmate and connecting with them is one of the best things on Earth. It makes your life so much happier.”

Sam smiles down at his wife and gives a small shrug. “It’s true.”

Dean makes a gagging face at Castiel, using the action of taking a sip from his water glass to hide it from the happy couple.

Mary and Castiel are washing dishes after the meal, with Dean and Jess and Sam’s laughter rippling from the living room, when Mary whips a towel over her shoulder and stares at Castiel straight on, arms crossed.

“What’s Heaven’s endgame for Dean?”

Castiel regards her steadily. “I don’t understand.”

She scoffs with a shake of her head. “Please. I don’t trust any angel in Heaven as far as I can throw them. There is an ulterior motive here. You’re not just here because of my son failing to ‘connect’ with his soulmate.”

“This is my assignment; why I was sent to Earth in the first place.” Castiel carefully rinses a plate and sets it onto a towel lying on the counter. “In fact, I was first assigned to Lisa, Dean’s soulmate. Then I was redirected to Dean by Heaven’s orders.”

Mary runs a hand through her dusty blonde curls. “Nope, I’m not buying it. What else do you know?”

Castiel turns to face her fully. “I don’t know anything else.”

She regards him for a moment, chewing at her bottom lip—Castiel knows now where Dean inherited the habit. “How much has Dean told you about me and my ex-husband?”

Castiel shifts his weight from one foot to the other uncomfortably. “Not an extensive amount.”

She turns back to the sink, picking up a plate to scrub it. “John and I are soulmates. Our tattoos appeared the summer before our senior year of high school. We had known each other since kindergarten and were best friends, so we both figured it out right away. I was walking down the aisle to him just a week after I was walking to get my high school diploma.” She sighs. “We were married for eight years. Had Dean, then Sam. But I was unhappy. I told people that I was unhappy—my mom, my friends… but they all said the same thing. They said that since John is my soulmate, that happiness _had_ to be just around the corner. That it was all ‘meant to be’; that since Heaven designated it, everything would work out.”

“But it didn’t,” Castiel supplies, when she’s silent for a few breaths.

“No.” She scrubs the plate harder, even though it’s spotless. “It didn’t work out at all. One night, before he came home from work, I packed up my bags and the boys and left him. He didn’t even fight me on custody of them. It’s all been downhill ever since.” She looks at Castiel out of the corner of her eye, as if to gauge his reaction, but he remains neutral. “But I don’t regret anything I did. I stand by my decisions. It was what I needed, and even though the whole ‘meant to be’ bullshit was being thrown in my face, I did what _I_ thought was right, regardless of the consequences.”

Castiel nods, wondering how this pertains to him.

“But Heaven didn’t interfere. Not once. I left him, and no cupid came down from their holier-than-thou throne to fix anything. I didn’t get any repercussions from leaving my soulmate in the dust. And now Dean decides he wants to ignore the presence of his soulmate in the world—which he’s been doing for _years_ , mind you—and one of you comes down here and suddenly is trying to shove him and Lisa together. Explain _that_ to me.”

“I have to admit, I don’t understand the politics of Heaven in this respect as much as I’d like. I was simply given an assignment, one that I have to complete. I never got an explanation as to why I was given this particular job, or even who I have to answer to.”

Mary finally puts the pristinely washed plate back into the sink, frowning at him. “So, you just blindly follow Heaven’s decisions? You’ve been doing this all your life, why don’t you know more?”

“I…” Castiel looks down at his feet, which are being kept warm by Dean’s wool socks. Another way that Dean is catering to him, despite the circumstances. He feels a pang of shame. “I haven’t always been a cupid. In fact, this is my first task as one.”

 “I don’t understand,” Mary says, propping a hip against the sink, “I thought you guys were each designated a position in Heaven that you kept forever.”

“Ideally,” Castiel sighs, “but occasionally punishment is dealt out.” He briefly wonders how Mary knows that, since the politics of angels are normally lost on humans, but he leaves his questioning for another time.

Mary looks uncomfortable with her defenses down. “Are you telling me that you know as much about this situation as Dean does? Which is next to nothing?”

“Unfortunately.”

“I see.” She pauses, looking down at the water dripping from the loosely shut off faucet. “Can you answer me one thing?”

At Castiel’s nod, she asks, “Will Dean have a choice in this? If he doesn’t want to pair up with his soulmate in the end?” She looks at him imploringly. “Will he be able to keep his free will, when it comes down to it?”

Castiel says, his eyes not leaving her sight, “I promise you that I will not force Dean into anything he does not want to do. Me living here in this house, me interfering with his love life; it all ends when he says the word. He said he would give Lisa a try, and the moment that he decides it’s enough, I will leave his life forever. I have…” He stops, wetting his dry lips before he says, “I have come to care for Dean’s well-being.”

Mary seems comforted by this; she relaxes a fraction. “Thank you, Castiel.”

“Of course.” Castiel turns to the sink, resuming his task of washing the dishes.

“You know,” she says after a three point seven minutes of silence, “to me, you seem like one of the good angels. Under different circumstances, I would be much nicer to you. It’s just,” she waves a soapy hand in the air, “I have these protective mama bear tendencies.”

Castiel has heard that phrase before. Claire used to yell it at him accusingly, when he would be overprotective of her safety with boys and recklessly climbing up slides on the playground backwards. She always grumbled how hard it was to have an ‘angel mom’.

Castiel smiles, feeling the skin around his eyes crinkle. “I can completely understand that.”

 

* * *

 

Dean flops onto the couch, breathing out a long sigh. He loves his family, but God they’re intense sometimes. He grins at Cas, who is sitting in the chair across from him, head bent over one of Dean’s books.

“What are you reading?”

Cas looks up, mouth slightly open. “Oh. I didn’t hear you come in.”

“You must really be involved in the story, then.”

Lifting the book’s cover slightly, Cas shows him the title. Dean beams as he recites the title aloud, “ _Anna Karenina._ ”

“I am on the third chapter. So far there are a lot of names.”

“Yeah,” Dean chuckles, “but you probably will keep better track of them than I ever did.” He dances his thumbs in circles around each other, frowning at Cas’ face that is scrunched in concentration. “Sorry my family can be a bit… much.”

“Oh, they’re not too much at all. I loved meeting them,” Cas says sincerely. “Especially your mother.”

“Yeah, you guys were washing dishes in there for a while. Everything okay?”

“We were talking about you,” Cas says way too casually, once again casting his eyes down to his book.

Dean feels a nervous sweat breaking out on the back of his neck. “Uh. What about me?”

Dean swears that he can see Cas’ lips turn up in a mysterious smile when he says, “About your stubborn tendencies.”

“My what?”

Castiel shuts the book and stares at Dean full-on. “She was concerned about my presence in your life. I assured her that there was nothing to worry about, and that I would not force you into anything.”

“Force me into what?”

“Concerning the soulmate situation.”

“Oh, yeah, I thought she might bring that up. She’s always been protective of me and Sammy, so she comes on kind of strong. You should’ve seen her when there was a couple of boys bullying Sam in the third grade. I think the moms of those kids thought she was going to start throwing punches.”

“Of course she is protective,” Cas argues, “she’s your mother.”

Dean leans back into the couch cushions, hands laced behind his neck. “It’s more than that, though. I think that because she was a single parent raising us, and my dad was kind of a deadbeat, she had to overcompensate. Even now she has to deal with him being an asshole to us. Makes her have thicker skin. And get overly suspicious toward cupids just trying to do their job,” Dean adds with a small grin.

Cas frowns at his book as his finger outlines the gold-lettered title. “Your father was always like this?”

“Well, not always, maybe. But he started drinking when I was, I dunno, in high school or something.” Dean shakes his head with a scoff. “And he never shaped up.”

“Yet you take care of him?”

“He’s got no one else. I feel sorry for him.” Dean frowns at Cas, who has tightened his grip on the book so hard that his knuckles are white. “Why are you asking this?”

“I…” Cas takes a breath, lowering his head. His dark hair shadows his eyes. “I deeply empathize with your father. To not have anyone, and to try and fill an empty hole with something else, it’s… understandable.”

Dean feels unnecessarily annoyed by this statement. What the hell does Cas know? “Dude, it’s not like my dad has no choice but to do this. He pushed everyone away: Sam, my mom when she tried to stay in contact with him, his parents before they died—and it’s even getting to the point where I’m wondering why _I_ even bother. He could get help, but he doesn’t. He could turn his life around, but he doesn’t. This is his fault.”

“He’s grieving,” Cas insists.

“Grieving over _what_?”

“Losing his family.”

“But—my mom left him years ago! Don’t you think he’d be over that by now?”

Cas stands abruptly, the book flying off his lap and hitting the floor with a thud. He stares very seriously into Dean’s face. “The worst thing that could happen to anyone,” he says in a soft and serious tone, “is to be alone. To not have a family, and to not belong to anyone, is the worst burden that a man could bear.”

Dean blinks at Cas, completely thrown. He knows that this conversation has more to do with John, but with his racing thoughts and anger pumping through his veins about Cas defending his dad in the first place, he can’t place what it is.

“I’m going to bed now,” Cas announces, suddenly looking very tired. He picks the book carefully off the floor and clutches it tightly to his chest. “Do you mind if I continue to borrow this?”

Dean shakes his head.

“Thank you. I will see you in the morning.”

Dean sits on the couch, frowning at his hands, thoughts battering at him, long after Castiel leaves the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, lovelies. Hope you liked the extra long chapter to tide you over - I won't be updating in the next week as usual because I'm taking a road trip to Ann Arbor. I'll still probably get some writing done, but I'm giving myself an update break. :) 
> 
> Please let me know what you thought of the chapter<3


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For everyone reading this - thank you so much. I love getting your comments, your kudos, and your messages on my tumblr. They honestly all make my week. You guys are helping to make this fic come alive; thank you so much for that. 
> 
> Enjoy a little fluff <3 (Chloe, this is for you, since you had to read my angsty chapter during a bad day!)

“A pipe busted open at my school!”

Castiel pokes his head from the blanket flung over his head. He blinks at Dean who stands in the doorway, framed in the morning light, hair disheveled and expression wide and smiling. “Excuse me?” he grits out.

“A busted pipe, Cas!” Dean flings himself onto the bed, lying across haphazardly across Castiel’s legs. “Whole school’s flooded. I have the day off!”

“That’s great,” Castiel says unenthusiastically, burying his head once again under the covers.

Dean is now shaking one of Castiel’s legs, and Castiel wishes he wouldn’t do that. “This _is_ great, Cas, you know why? I can finally show you the town!”

“What town?”

“ _This_ town!”

“I would rather sleep.”

“C’mon, sleepyhead, it’ll be fun.” Dean pulls the covers off of Castiel’s head. “You’ve been down lately. You need some excitement.”

“I haven’t been ‘down’,” Castiel says petulantly. He sits up and rubs at his tired eyes, realizing sleep is impossible at this point.

“Yeah, _sure,_ ” Dean drawls, “you’re as chipper as I am a stormtrooper.”

“Is that another pop cultural reference I won’t understand?”

“You bet it is.”

Castiel sighs into his hands. “Of course.”

“Cas.” Dean sounds more serious now, so Castiel lowers his hands to look at him. Dean is frowning at him intently, one hand still on his leg. “You’ve had it tough lately. With all that Claire stuff you told me about, and then being demoted… you need a day off. So, today it’s just going to be fun. No cupid stuff. Just you and me, two friends, hanging out. How does that sound?”

It sounds wonderful. “If you insist,” Castiel says with a long-suffering sigh.

“Great. First order of business, coffee.”

The coffee doesn’t come soon enough, in Castiel’s opinion. Dean insists on taking Castiel to his favorite coffee place in town, which is a ten-minute drive away. Of course, this is after all the time it took for Dean to fuss over Castiel’s apparently poor choice in outfits and insist that he dress ‘weather-appropriate’.

With a large steaming to-go mug of coffee nursed between his hands, Castiel can finally share in Dean’s enthusiasm for the day. “Where are we going first?” he asks as they tumble back into the chilly car.

“Well, I thought I would take you to all my favorite places. Because we seem to like the same stuff, so far. But feel free to holler if you see something you want to go to on the way.”

“I am perfectly capable of telling you my opinion without shouting,” Castiel says after a blessed sip of coffee.

After Dean bites on a laugh and looks at Castiel with amused eyes, Castiel confirms, “Was that another idiom that went over my head?”

Dean pats his knee. “Don’t worry, buddy. You’ll catch on soon.”

Castiel tampers down the thought that he won’t have time to ‘catch up’, since he will probably be returning to Heaven sooner than later. “I hope so.”

Their first stop is a used bookstore. It’s humble and dimly lit, with books filling it from floor to ceiling, messily stacked on top of each other. Castiel loses track of Dean for the next hour, completely immersed in his own world with cataloguing each book’s cover and title.

Dean finds him sitting on the ground, a few books scattered over his lap and even more stacked in piles next to him. With a grin, Dean sits down across from him and puts his own pile down in front of Castiel, effectively blocking the narrow aisle and deterring other customers from trying to walk through that section.

“Found my own bounty,” he proclaims. “What did you find?”

“Cooking books,” Castiel replies, holding up a red checkered one that he is currently reading, “and many books on the American presidents.”

Dean scrunches his nose, between a laugh and a look of confusion. Castiel finds it endearing. “What the heck do you want to read that for?” he asks.

“You were discussing George Washington in your curriculum yesterday. I wanted to read more on the subject.”

Dean finally does laugh. “Cas, I’m not going to teach _all_ the Presidents to my first-graders in the next week. You don’t need to know everything.”

“I’m curious,” Castiel defends. He pokes at the spines of the books Dean brought. “What about you?”

Dean clears his throat, as if about to say something important. “Well,” he begins, “I’m going to expand your literary collection, since I’m assuming they don’t have much in Heaven. These are a selection of my personal favorites, from different eras and countries. For Russia, you already have _Anna Karenina_ , but what you don’t have is anything by Yuri Olesha.” He puts a book into Castiel’s hands that is green and says _Envy_ on the cover. “And then here’s _Tom Sawyer_ , and _1984,_ and _Walden_ —“

“What is _Walden_ about?” Castiel asks, gripping the plain brown book in question between his hands.

“It’s a collection of essays,” Dean says, eyes alit in excitement, “that Thoreau wrote when he was out in the wilderness. It’s all about living off the land and depending on your own devices. He says that people were too materialistic—even back then, if you can believe it. After I read that, I tried camping on my own for a weekend, and living the way he suggested, away from civilization and all that jazz.”

“How did it go?” Castiel asks, feeling a small grin tug at his lips because he thinks he already knows the answer.

Dean smiles back. “Can’t make burgers in the wild, Cas. Had to go back home to my stove.”

“I see.” Castiel feels his face stretch with the smile on his face. They stare at each other until the shop owner materializes down the aisle from them, asking them pointedly if they intend to buy anything, or would simply like to keep blocking traffic in the aisles.

To appease the situation, Dean buys _Walden_ and a few cooking books for Castiel.

They go to an old-fashioned ice cream shop at eleven in the morning that is just opening its doors, and Dean declares that they’ll have chocolate milkshakes for breakfast because, as he says, it’s their day off.

“You guys just want a big one to share?” the girl behind the counter asks. “It’s a better deal with a larger size.”

“Sure,” Dean shrugs.

“And just one straw, right?”

Dean’s suddenly blushing, looking nervously at Castiel. “Uh… no. Two.”

“If you say so.” She winks at Castiel. 

Dean is flustered the whole time they share the milkshake between them on a bench in front of the shop’s red checkered sign. He won’t explain why to Castiel no matter how many times he asks.

They spend the rest of the morning meandering aimlessly through neighborhoods close to the center of town. Dean occasionally points out a house that they pass by, telling Castiel what childhood friend of his grew up in that house, or which park he and his friends once got caught smoking at past midnight.

“Did Benny grow up with you, too?” Cas asks Dean.

Visibly stiffening, Dean says, “Uh, no. He moved here from Louisiana. I met him after graduating college.”

Castiel nods, blinking into the sunlight. The sky is overcast but the rays still insist on pushing through the clouds. “Does he still live here?”

“No, no way. He moved after we broke up.” Dean tilts his head to frown at Castiel. “Why all the questions about Benny all of a sudden?”

“Because you told me there is more to the story of you and Benny’s relationship.”

Dean stops in the middle of the sidewalk and tilts his head toward the sky, letting out an overdramatic groan. “You’re impossible.”

“I simply wish to know more about you, Dean. Isn’t that what friends do? Get to know each other?”

Dean lowers his head and blinks at Castiel, his face splitting into a grin. “Using my own logic against me. You little jerk.”

Castiel shrugs as innocently as possible.

“Fine, I get it.” Dean abruptly continues to walk; Castiel almost trips over an untied lace of his boot as he moves to follow. “But I don’t want to bring down the day with _that_ story. Maybe another time, okay?”

“Whatever you wish, Dean.”

As they walk a few more paces, Castiel notices that Dean keeps glancing at him in his peripherals, looking visibly uncomfortable. “What’s wrong?”

Dean stops at a curb, letting cars go by without trying to cross to the other side of the block. He shoves his hands into his pockets and squints into the sun. “Do you like your angel family?”

“What?”

“You heard me. Do you like the angels up there?”

To Castiel, it’s a loaded question. He knows what the appropriate answer is. But he knows what the real answer is, as well. The more complicated and sticky answer that calls to a larger problem and situation. “I’m indifferent to them,” he finally settles on saying, taking the advantage of a gap between cars to cross the street.

Dean jogs after him, saying accusingly, “That’s not really an answer, you know.”

Once their shoes hit the corresponding curb, Dean grabs Castiel’s shoulder to swing him around and look at him. “Don’t friends tell friends about their lives so that they get to know each other? Isn’t that what friends do?” he asks with a sly grin.

Rolling his eyes, Castiel shrugs Dean’s hand off his shoulder petulantly. “What do you want me to say? That they’re insufferable and I don’t agree with anything they say and I’ve never fit into the mold?”

“Uh, yeah, if that’s the truth, dude.”

“Well, it is.”

“Great.” Dean frowns. “No, that’s not great. Why don’t you get along with them?”

Castiel continues to walk down the sidewalk to avoid Dean’s observant eyes. “There’s many reasons. It would take too long to explain.”

“Well, hit me with one of them,” Dean says, matching Castiel’s stride. He jabs a friendly elbow into Castiel’s side. “Besides the fact that you’re a total rebel.”

“I did often disagree with the angel that leads my garrison,” Castiel agrees, thinking back to Naomi’s lividly red face whenever she would discipline him for disobeying direct orders.

“So you were a real angel bad boy?”

“By angelic standards, I suppose.”

Dean’s grin takes up most of his face. “Never would have pegged you as one.”

Knowing full well the way Dean would react to the double entendre, “Dean, I wish you wouldn’t peg me under any circumstances.”

A surprised and strangled laugh sends Dean into a coughing fit, and he eventually stutters, “Uh, sure, Cas, whatever you say.”

 They walk for a few more minutes, enjoying the subdued sunlight. Dean breaks the silence again by asking, “So, you don’t have anyone up there waiting for you? An angelic love interest?”

Castiel shakes his head in negative.

“Oh, do you guys…” Dean waves his hands uselessly, “…not do that sort of thing?”

“We have ‘romantic partners’, as I suppose you’d call them,” Castiel says, “but I don’t have one at present.” Not in the past hundred years, he thinks begrudgingly. Since he is ignored by his family on a general whole, and labelled as a problematic angel, any potential angels with compatible grace tend to not approach him.

Dean is rubbing the back of his head, as he often does when he’s either frustrated or uncomfortable, and thoughtfully looking at the sidewalk. “Okay, so… not much to tie you to Heaven.”

“Not in the slightest,” Castiel says honestly. “If family could be chosen, I wouldn’t choose them as mine. And they wouldn’t choose me.”

“Sure you can pick your family, Cas. Blood's thicker than water.”

"'The blood of the convenant is thicker than the water of the womb'," Castiel recites, completing the phrase.

Dean nods. "Yeah, that one. Family you form by choice is stronger than family that's forced on you by birth."

Castiel stops as he’s jolted with these words. He's never considered this biblical reference to apply to him. He turns to Dean, who is smiling at him while at the same time squinting through the sunlight that is hidden behind the clouds. His hair is auburn in this lighting, and even with his faded grace, Castiel can see his soul glitter.

“I suppose you’re right,” Castiel says, finally, when his tongue stops being tied.

“Of course I’m right. I always am.” Dean lightly bumps Castiel’s arm, pointing to a skate park across the road. “Have I ever told you about Sam and the skateboard fiasco?”

For the rest of their walk, Castiel happily basks in Dean’s memories, content to hear about them forever.

Eventually they make their way back to a main street. Dean stops in a deli and orders three sandwiches. “The next place we’re going to is my favorite,” he explains to Castiel with a wink.

They walk a few blocks to a shop that is wedged in between a dry cleaner’s and a barber shop. Castiel looks up at the faded sign: _Winchester Rare and Valuable Books and Items._

“Your mother’s shop,” he says, struck with surprise that Dean would take him here.

“Yup. Best place in the world,” Dean says, holding open the door for Castiel.

Inside is warm and inviting, if not a bit crowded with books and various trinkets on the shelves. Mary is sitting at a desk in the back corner of the one-roomed store, her blonde hair pushed messily back in a bun, intently staring at something on the desk before her. When she looks up at Castiel and Dean, she smiles brightly.

“Well hey there, boys. Didn’t know I would be getting a visit today.”

“I’m showing Cas around,” Dean says, putting an arm around Castiel’s shoulders and smiling proudly. “He’s finally getting the official tour.”

Mary stifles a laugh. “Oh, I see.”

“What are you working on?” Dean lets go of Castiel’s shoulders and trails around her desk to peer at the manuscript in front of her.

While Mary and Dean chat about Mary’s latest inventory, Castiel pokes around at the books on her shelves. They are dusty and worn; some of them Castiel is surprised are still in existence, having last remembered seeing them decades ago.

Dean is suddenly at Castiel’s shoulder, chest practically pressed against Castiel’s back. “See anything interesting?”

Castiel selfishly pushes back into Dean’s warmth just a fraction. “Your mother has acquired many amazing things,” he says.

“Yeah, she’s been doing it for years. Both my mom and dad started this shop, actually. When they divorced, he didn’t want anything to do with it. Left it all to her. She’s been building up amazing inventory ever since.”

Castiel hums in appreciation. Not wanting Dean to leave his space, he grabs a book blindly off the shelf and holds it up for Dean to see. “Have you read this one yet?”

Reaching around Castiel’s arm, Dean holds the book beneath where Castiel’s hand is clutching it, frowning at it thoughtfully. “Can’t say that I’ve read the original edition of Marx’s _Das Kapital,_ no.”

“Oh.” Castiel is critically aware of Dean’s hand near his. His breath catches in his throat when a few of Dean’s fingers trail up to Castiel’s, lightly touching them before leading the book back onto the shelf.

“Maybe I should read it sometime,” Dean says by Castiel’s ear. His breath tickles the nape of his neck and produces shivers up and down his spine.

Castiel wants nothing more than to know if Dean’s lips are as warm as his breath is, and this terrifies him.

“So, you two brought me a sandwich?” Mary calls loudly from the desk.

Dean jumps back from Castiel as if he’s been electrocuted. “Uh, yeah mom, on the desk!” he calls back. He grins shyly at Castiel, rubbing the back of his neck, as Castiel has noticed that he often does when he’s uncomfortable. “Uh, so. Are you hungry for a real meal?”

“I would consider the milkshake from earlier real food,” Castiel replies, proud of how steady his voice is.

Dean smiles fondly. “Yeah, but you need something healthy. Come on.” He gently grabs Castiel’s arm to lead him to the desk, but seems to think better of it, because his hand drops away just as quickly.

Over sandwiches, Mary shows Castiel a book on angel lore that she had found in an abandoned warehouse in Northern Minnesota. The information enclosed is forty-seven percent accurate, which is thirteen-point-four percent more accurate than most books that humans write on angels. He tells her this, and receives a bright smile from her in return.

“I knew that it was a good find,” she says proudly. “So what parts _are_ true?”

Castiel gives her an enigmatic smile in return, taking a small bite out of his sandwich.

“I don’t know why you angels are so secretive,” she sighs emphatically. “My guardian angel was like that, too.”

“You had a guardian angel?” Dean asks, picking a piece of lettuce from his sandwich with a grimace.

“Yes, when your father and I divorced. I don’t think Heaven thought I could raise two boys by myself,” Mary says.

“Guardian angels go where Heaven senses they need them,” Castiel replies, “but they leave just as soon if there is no need there.”

Mary nods. “My own left after just a few months. Didn’t even show himself to Dean or Sam. He realized that I could take care of myself. Nice angel, too. Gadreel or something.”

Castiel resists the urge to roll his eyes. As far as angels went, he considers Gadreel a mindless foot soldier that rarely displayed ‘nice’ tendencies.

“You two going to stick around here for a while?” Mary asks.

“Yeah, if that’s okay?”

“I don’t mind. Just please don’t scare away customers.”

“I would never,” Dean says with a mischievous smile.

Dean and Castiel stay there for hours. Castiel can’t remember a time when he has been so at ease in a place. He and Dean read for hours in two comfy armchairs at the back of the store; the warm afternoon sun filters onto their faces through a narrowly slotted window. Every so often Castiel raises his eyes, and sees Dean smiling at him over the top of a book cover.

Each time, Dean’s smile stokes a warm fire in his chest.

Finally, Dean stretches out his arm with a loud yawn. “Read to your heart’s content?” he asks Castiel.

“I don’t think that’ll ever happen,” Castiel says honesty. “There’s too many books I want to read.”

“I know what you mean,” Dean says with a grin. He pulls his phone out of his jeans’ pocket and suddenly groans. “Oh, shit.”

“What’s wrong?” Castiel asks.

“My date with Lisa is tonight. I totally forgot that it’s Friday. I’m supposed to pick her up in an hour.”

Castiel feels as if someone poured a bucket of cold water over him, violently ground him back into reality. “Oh.”

“We should get going so I can drop you off at home before getting her.”

Castiel nods distractedly. He clutches the bag of books that Dean purchased for him that morning against his chest as they walk to Mary’s desk and say goodbye.

“It was good seeing you again, Castiel,” she says in parting with a warm smile.

Castiel doesn’t feel its effect quite as acutely as it did before. He watches as Dean hugs his mother goodbye, and they walk back in silence to the car.

“You going to read those books tonight while I’m on my date?” Dean asks as he pulls the Impala onto the road, aiming for home.

Castiel forces a smile on his face as he turns to look at Dean. “That’s what I would like to do.” But I will be observing your date under Heaven’s orders instead, he doesn’t say.

“Do you feel at least a little better?” Dean asks.

His hopeful look makes Cas say, “Of course, Dean. Thank you. It was a great day.”

Dean nods, looking as if he accomplished his goal. “Good. I’m glad.”

 

* * *

 

It’s ten at night when he gets home from his date with Lisa; the earliest that a date has ever ended for Dean. The house is dark but for one lone light in the living room, indicating that Cas hadn’t disappeared and repeated last weekend’s post-date fiasco.

Dean noisily throws the keys into the bowl on the small entry table to indicate his arrival. Cas is sitting in the living room, feet tucked under his crossed legs and book lying open in his lap. His eyes are tired when he looks up at Dean. They don’t say anything to each other for a few long moments. Dean is content to just stand in the doorway and greedily gaze into Cas’ endless blue, to wait for his heartrate to regulate itself and calm down and realize he’s home and Cas is sitting on the couch and everything is okay.

Finally breaking the stillness, Dean sits on the floor and mirrors Cas’ cross-legged position. “I hate this house,” he announces.

Castiel’s eyebrow raises toward his hairline, a silent indication for Dean to explain himself.

“It’s not even my house,” Dean says, still not quite sure where he’s going with this, “it’s Benny’s. I co-signed onto it so I can still pay the mortgage, but… it’s mainly his. He’s the one that put work into it when it was still a shithole, he was the one that used the kitchen mostly to make dinner…. He liked this house way more than I ever did. That garden in the back? It’s the only thing I like. It’s really pretty in the summer. But, really, it’s fucking depressing to come home to this place.”

Castiel closes his book. He looks unsure of what to say and Dean doesn’t blame him. “Why don’t you move out?”

“Because I’m stuck,” Dean says before he can stop the words. He blinks at Cas, who doesn’t seem to have any reaction to that. “Yeah. I guess… I’m stuck.”

“And something about today has made you feel more stuck than usual?”

Damn. He’s good. Dean runs a hand anxiously through his hair. “I ended my date early.”

“Because you felt stuck?”

“Huh? No. It was fine. We went to a dinner and a movie. The failsafe perfect combo. But it ended early.”

What Dean doesn’t say is that the restaurant they ate at was too loud. The movie they saw was a poorly written rom com (which is a genre Dean usually secretly likes but this time was not impressed). He doesn’t say that he didn’t want to listen to Lisa talk about different yoga moves and complain about the shifts at the hospital, and that when they kissed at the end of the night it didn’t feel right but he still let it last five minutes hot and heavy in his car. It left him confused.

He doesn’t say that at the end of the night, he felt like the date was wrong, somehow. Like _he_ did something wrong.

Dean considers all this, staring at his hands. When he looks up, he is startled to see that Cas is sitting beside him, a silent and steady force.

“Why don’t you move out of this house, Dean?” he asks again.

Dean sighs. “Benny owned a diner in town; that’s how I met him. I used to go there for dinner all the time after school got out. I didn’t really have time to cook those days, beyond a burger or boxed mac and cheese. Benny actually inspired me to make time for cooking again.”

“I am grateful to him for that,” Cas pipes in. “Your cooking is wonderful.”

Dean feels his cheeks color at such a blatant compliment. “Uh, thanks, Cas. It’s okay.” He takes a steadying breath. “So, Benny…he was restless. He missed Louisiana, and his family; he moved here to get a fresh start but I think that instead, things felt stagnant to him.” Dean chuckles, self-deprecatingly, and says, “I think he thought that _I_ was stagnant. A dead-end. Sometimes I feel like he’s right to think that.”

“You’re anything but stagnant, Dean.”

Dean claps Cas on the shoulder, barely believing him but saying nonetheless, “Thanks, buddy. But I think he’s right. I have a deadbeat dad that I’m always taking care of—Benny hated that—and a family that is attached to each other at the hip, so I can’t ever move out of town, or even take long trips… You know, Benny once suggested taking a trip to Louisiana to meet _his_ family, but we never did. The weekend we were supposed to leave, my dad was on a really bad bender and I had to stay behind and take care of him.”

“I’m sorry,” Cas says, his hand now on Dean’s shoulder.

Dean briefly, warmly, covers Cas’ hand with his own without thinking. “It’s okay. I should just know that that’s what my life is going to be.”

“This feeling of being stuck,” Cas says, breaking a moment’s silence, “what does it have to do with Lisa?”

Dean looks at Cas. His hair is messy, as it often is after a long day. The Henley shirt that Dean lent to him is, as usual, wrinkled, and one side of the collar is folded in the wrong way. His face is close enough that Dean can see that his eyes have a dark blue circle around his pupil, like an endless asteroid belt circling in an enigmatic and infinite galaxy.

He’s beautiful, Dean thinks, and is struck mute with the thought.

Finally finding his voice, Dean says, softly, “It has nothing to do with Lisa.”

He can feel Cas’ warm breath on his face when Cas says, “When we spent time together today, I discovered places that I hadn’t ever thought might be on Earth. Someone who is stuck couldn’t have inspired me like that.”

Dean admits, in that quiet moment in their own world, “When I’m with you, Cas, I always feel like I’m going places.”

There’s a soft smile on Cas’ face when he says, “I feel the same about you, Dean.”

Dean wasn’t on board for kissing earlier in the night with Lisa, but oh man is he on board for kissing Cas right now. He begins to lean towards Cas, sucked in by Cas’ inevitable gravitational pull.

Abruptly, Cas lurches out of Dean’s space, and stands in one fluid motion. “I need to shower before going to bed,” he announces, picking his book up off the couch and walking in the direction of the bathroom. “Goodnight, Dean.”

Dean blinks, still leaning toward where Cas was once sitting.

Oops.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> by the way, I wrote a companion piece to this fic on my tumblr. [Here is a link for it, if you're interested](https://wanderingcas.tumblr.com/post/158580112754/before-castiel-met-dean-humans-could-be-explained)


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> posting this a little early in the day between classes:) enjoy!

On Monday morning, when Castiel raises his head from his book, expecting to see Charlie for their afternoon coffee in the teacher’s lounge, he instead sees another red-headed friend land in the chair across from him.

“Anna!” he exclaims, pleasantly surprised.

She folds her hands together on the table and gives him a restrained smile. “Hello, Castiel.”

He eyes her warily, slowly lowering the book. “Something’s wrong.”

“What book are you reading? I haven’t seen you read a book in years.”

“ _Walden._ Don’t change the subject.”

“Does Dean also have an affinity for reading?” she asks casually, flicking a crumb off the table.

Knowing he’s proceeding into some sort of trap, Castiel says cautiously, “Yes.”

“What else has Dean pushed you into doing?”

Castiel opens his mouth to answer, then shuts it again. He studies her coolly blank face, her fake indifference to the situation. He wonders if this is why Charlie and every other teacher in the lounge are unusually absent. “Anna, what is going on?”

Taking a sharp breath through her nose, she says, “You know why we’re friends, Castiel? Because you’re different from the rest of the angels. You display more empathy for humans, and let yourself feel more emotions than other angels let themselves feel; I’ve always admired that about you.” She leans forward, hands pressed onto the table. “But this has gone too far.”

“Stop being cryptic, Anna.”

She pulls out three stray notebook pages and carefully arranges them onto the table. “First of all, you should be grateful that a cupid—Danny—owes me a favor. He’s the one that collects your notebook at the end of each week to pass on your notes to someone in charge. Did you know that someone reads them over? Evaluates them? Usually Naomi, since she’s just waiting for you to screw _something_ up. Did you know that?”

Castiel says, “I know that someone reads them to monitor my progress with Dean,” while his heart clenches oddly.

“Well, when Danny looked over your notebook this week before turning it in to a higher power, he thought that maybe if he turned in this particular entry, you would likely have your wings ripped out and your grace snuffed before you could blink. So, he removed these pages secretly and gave them to me.”

“What pages?” Castiel asks, although he suspects he already knows the answer.

In response, she taps hard onto the papers. “Read for yourself.”

Castiel leans over the table to read his familiar cursive writing. His heart immediately sinks.

At first Castiel’s observations about Dean’s date are very clinical, as they are meant to be. _Dean is looking at his watch a lot,_ the entry reads, _and he isn’t making eye contact with Lisa as much as he did on the last date. Something seems wrong. Perhaps it’s the restaurant and how loud it is. The movie might prove to be more successful._

_I’ve noticed that Dean, despite his façade, prefers quiet places. His classroom is often loud and chaotic, and it seems that to counteract a day spent in that environment, he tends to seek less crowded and more isolated places._

Castiel cringes as his entry rambles on: _I wonder if he seeks the quiet because he grew up working at his mother’s bookstore. That is a peaceful place, with not much foot traffic; he could have easily spent his days reading books and spending time there, separated from the chaotic world outside his door._

Castiel looks up, uncomfortable. “Anna…”

“Keep reading,” she says, voice hard. “You obviously don’t know what it says, because otherwise you wouldn’t dare to send it in.”

He pushes the paper away. “I know what it says.”

Anna snatches it and recites, “’Dean needs to be paired with a peaceful person. That’s why Lisa as his soulmate is such a perplexing choice. Dean is a fiery personality that pushes and is stubborn but easily fizzles out; he needs someone calm and steady to balance him. Lisa is, in general, calm, but lacks insight as to when Dean needs a quiet shoulder to lean on.’” Anna holds up a finger to quiet Castiel when he tries to protest and continues, “'Sometimes I wonder if that quiet shoulder could be me.’”

Castiel feels shame dump over him like a bucket of cold water. He stares at the table.

“Castiel.” Anna takes his arm, waving the paper in his face. “I’m being cruel so that you'll listen. If you fall for Dean—if you get involved in any way and come between him and his soulmate—“

“Who knows?” Castiel asks through gritted teeth.

“Nobody but me and Danny. But I’m not sure how long he’ll keep his mouth shut about this. It’s a hot button topic, obviously: an angel falling in love with a human.”

If it’s even possible, Castiel slumps further in his seat. Even if he succeeds in his mission, the public shaming of him possibly falling in love with a human would effectively take away any chances of him retrieving Claire’s memories of him.

“Castiel, why in the world did you send in those notes?” Anna asks.

“I wasn’t thinking,” Castiel says with an explosive sigh, standing. He suddenly feels restless and impatient. “The date ended abruptly, and I meant to take out those pages, or at the very least blot out what I had written. But, the morning after the date, a messenger appeared at the door to take the notebook, and I handed it to him without a second thought.” Castiel doesn’t mention that after Dean’s date there was also a quiet moment where their faces were leaning toward each other, as if to kiss, and Castiel was so flustered that he practically ran out of the room like a coward.

That moment may have contributed to the oversight in Castiel’s thinking that lead to this disaster.

“If Naomi finds out about this,” Castiel says, one hand scrubbing over his face, “it would mean the end of everything. If I fail this mission, or break _more_ rules, I’ll have absolutely no bargaining chip to use to get Claire’s memories back, or to argue that I should be her guardian again.”

Anna frowns at him, seemingly considering his words. She lays a gentle hand over Castiel’s. “Castiel… are you sure that Naomi will ever give those memories back or let you near Claire again? Even if you were to complete dozens of successful missions?”

“It’s my only chance, Anna. If I fail, then what else do I have?”

Anna stands from her chair, shaking her head and pressing her fingers to her temple. She often did this to combat oncoming headaches—ones that Castiel or Charlie are usually the cause of, she always tells him. “I am so worried about you. After what happened to Claire…” She looks at him with shining eyes. “I had never seen you that upset before, after she... Well. I thought you would rip out your grace yourself. And now, if you fall _in_ love with a human? With Dean? I don’t even want to think about what you’ll do when _that_ situation implodes.”

“I’m not in love with anybody,” Castiel says, also rising from his chair. “You know that I have the tendency to get too close to humans; forming friendships that our brothers and sisters have frowned on. I have a history of it. And now, with my lack of grace, I’m more emotionally compromised—I’m simply getting too close to the job, and I don’t understand my role in the situation.”

“I want to believe you, Castiel: that the reason is as throw-away as that.”

“It _is_.”

She stares at him for a long moment; finally, she bursts out a sigh and falls back into her chair. “I don’t know what to think.”

Castiel lifts his hands imploringly. “You have to trust me. What other choice do I have? To suddenly abandon Dean?”

“Abandon _Dean_?”

“You know what I mean; I’m saying that I can’t abandon this case.” He tries to smile reassuringly. “I know what I’m doing, I promise.”

Giving him a hard stare, Anna says, making Castiel’s heart stutter, “You said the same thing about Claire before that bridge collapsed.”

“Don’t go there, Anna.”

Anna continues to look at him with a stiff expression. Charlie appears at the door of the lounge, two coffees in her hand, smiling broadly at the two of them.

“Hey, guys!” she chimes. “Fancy seeing two of you here! Anna, I thought you were coming by later, when all my classes were done?”

Anna’s face drops into a neutral expression as she directs her attention to Charlie. “I had to talk to Castiel about something.”

Castiel is less talented at getting his face in order, because Charlie takes one look at him and says in alarm, “What happened, Cas? You look awful.”

Shaking his head, Castiel forces his voice to work enough to say, “Anna was just… delivering news from Heaven.”

Charlie sits in an empty chair at the circular table, the bottom of her cardboard coffee cups landing onto the tabletop with a soft tap. “Bad news?”

“It’s not pleasant to hear,” Anna says, shooting Castiel a pointed glare.  

They’re silent, none of them knowing what to say; even Charlie, uncharacteristically.

Anna finally rises to her feet. “I should leave.”

Castiel waves absently as Charlie says a hesitant goodbye. After Anna is out the door, she zones in on Castiel.

“What was that all about?”

Castiel clutches the journal entry pages on the table so hard that the edges begin to crinkle. He looks up at Charlie and feels his heart clench at her empathetic expression. “Charlie, I did something wrong.”

 

* * *

 

Dean wakes up to a very unusual noise.

Although only living with him for three-quarters of a month, Dean has become well familiar with his resident cupid’s noises that echo throughout the house. For instance: in the mornings, Castiel is dead quiet, not rising his grumpy ass from bed until Dean is done with his shower. In the evening, after they’ve cleaned and put away the dishes from dinner, Dean hears the occasional flip of a page on the other side of the couch, indicating that Cas is reading his book while Dean sips at a beer and watches the news. The walls, being cheaply thin as they are, help Dean to hear Cas restlessly toss and turn in his bed at night.

But this noise—a banging sound with an occasional metallic clatter—is not one he’s heard from Cas before, and especially not at this time of night.

Dean knocks softly on the bathroom door, and the banging noise immediately stops. “Cas?” he asks hesitantly.

He’s met with silence, so Dean just stands there awkward and stiff at the door. Maybe this is some sacred angel time that he shouldn’t be interrupting, or—something. “Uh.” He clears his throat and tries again, “I just wanted to make sure you were okay, but I’ll leave you alone. Sorry, man.”

As he turns to make his way back the bedroom, the door swings open and hits the side of the wall, making him jump. Cas is standing in the doorway, eyes bloodshot and hair scattered every which way. There is something metallic clutched in his white-knuckled fist.

Dean blinks back at him, unsure what to do.

“I…” Castiel looks down at the metal object in his hand, “I didn’t understand how to use it. So I broke it.”

“Broke what?”

“The shower.”

Dean, with this newly acquired knowledge, follows Cas’ gaze to the shower handle in his grasp. “You’ve, uh… never taken a shower before?”

“My grace has been able to sustain good hygiene until now.” Cas keeps blinking dumbly at the shower handle. “That is no longer the case.”

Dean pastes on an assured smile. “Well, let me help you with that.” He takes the shower handle from Castiel and ducks behind the shower curtain to fasten the shower handle back into its screw. It’s an easy and superficial fix; he easily screws it back on and gestures to an inquiring Castiel how to turn the knob left or right to release hot or cold water.

Cas leans against the bathroom door, rubbing an eye with the heel of his hand. “Thank you, Dean. I’ve helped fight alongside humans in wars, but cannot seem to make simple appliances function.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Dean wipes his slightly damp hands on the front of his shirt before crossing his arms. “What gave you the idea to shower this late at night, anyway?”

“I’ve been told that if one has a bad dream, taking a hot shower can help relax you.”

“Well, in my experience that is true. Sound advice.”

Cas frowns at the white bathroom tiles. “Granted, that one has the ability to turn a shower on in the first place.”

Chuckling, Dean takes a sit on the edge of the bathtub. “Good point.” He looks at Cas for a moment longer; watches him as he stays blank, staring downward. Their almost-kiss happened a few days ago, and things didn’t feel too tense since. But, Dean wonders if Cas is more upset about it than he thought.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks, hesitantly.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Cas releases a shaky breath. His head lightly hits the bathroom door as he leans against it. “I would rather not.”

Dean nods, and says, “Okay.” He bounces a knee nervously, looking around the tiny bathroom. It’s the only bathroom in the house, and doesn’t have much to show for itself. Like the rest of the house, it’s small and outdated and bare. Almost like no one lives there.

“You know, my dad’s house is only five blocks from here.”

Cas is silent to the sudden change in topic. His eyes intently staring at Dean is the only indication that he is listening.

“It’s the house I was born in, ya know,” Dean prattles on. “It used to be nice, but now it’s just covered in crap… you should see the walls. Years of grime just caked on there. Sam and I tried to scrub them once, but it’s hopeless.” Here Dean goes again. Just blurting out stuff to Cas that he otherwise wouldn’t tell anyone else. Cas is just so damn silent, and so _attentive._ Almost as if Dean would be an idiot to pass up the opportunity to tell Cas the thoughts that are in the dark corners of his heart.

Dean interlaces his hands together, elbows resting on his knees. “I don’t know why I keep going over there to help him, or why I keep giving him a second or a thousandth chance to make things right, when he never does. I just don’t want to go over to his house one day and find him…” Dean takes a breath to steady himself and grips his hands tighter. “I just wish I could get away from it. From this house.”

Cas’ eyes are still staring intently. “But you have a good life,” he says.

“I’m not sayin’ that I don’t; I love my mom, and Sam, and the fact that he married Jess, and my job is great. I’m not depressed or resentful or broken or whatever. I just,” Dean spreads his hands and looks around at his hopeless surroundings, “I’m stuck. If I wanted to get away, I couldn’t. There’s Dad, and the house, and now this whole… Lisa thing…”

“But you seem to enjoy living here,” Cas insists, “and enjoy being in this town. I never once detected restlessness in you.”

“That’s because you’re here,” Dean says before he can stop the words. He rubs the back of his hand self-consciously and clarifies, “It’s…nicer, having you here. You’re something new, I guess. But, trust me, I’m not always this cheerful about it.”

“I’m glad I can help things,” Cas says in his all-too-familiar fashion, sounding detached but somehow packing each word with emotional tenderness.

Dean looks up to smile at his friend. “Me, too.” He lets his eyes linger on Cas until he remembers that almost-kiss; he quickly scrubs a hand over his face and forces himself to stop making the situation awkward. “I’m sorry, man, I don’t know why I’m word-vomiting right now.”

Cas slides to the ground, back against the bathroom door, knees pulled up to his chest and fingers laced. “It’s because we’re friends,” Cas tells him. “’Friends tell friends about their lives so that they get to know each other,’” he adds with a soft smile, quoting Dean’s words from a few days ago.

Dean fondly rolls his eyes. “You know, you should listen to the guy who said that more often. I hear he’s a genius.”

Cas scoffs, but his not-quite-there-smile is still on his face. They sit in companionable silence for a few moments. Dean realizes that he can hear, for once, Cas’ steady breathing filling the silence; could he hear Cas’ breathing before? Do angels even breathe; or does this indicate that his grace is getting weaker?

“My dream was about Claire.”

Raising his head, Dean says to Cas’ stony face, “Oh, yeah?”

“It was about her death.”

Dean gapes at him. “Wait, what? I thought you said that she had her memories erased?”

“Yes.”

“Then how in the hell is that possible if she’s… you know…” Dean waves his arms uselessly.

“Just because I dream about her dying doesn’t mean it ever happened,” Cas says impatiently. His gaze seems to turn inward, as if thinking about something that isn’t present in the room. “I dreamt that she was on the bridge—it was collapsing. Cars and people and debris were beginning to slide down the concrete and into the dark river below. She was opening the passenger door, trying to run—but there was a semi-truck coming right for her car. She sees me, on the other side of the bridge, and calls out to me—but I don’t have my grace to help her. All I can do is watch as she gets pulled into the water below.”

During this dispassionate speech of Cas’, his tone is monotonous, like he’s proposing a bill on the Senate floor or giving a lecture on astrophysics. Not like he’s relaying a traumatic dream and holding out one of his darkest fears for Dean to see.

Sitting on the ground next to him, Dean wraps a careful arm around Cas’ stiff shoulders. Even though his voice didn’t reveal it, his body is less secretive—Cas’ muscles are taut with stress and he’s minutely shivering at Dean’s touch. “Cas,” Dean says softly. When Cas turns to look at him with distressed eyes, Dean continues, “It was just a nightmare.”

“Angels don’t have nightmares,” Cas insists, his voice now shaking, just in the slightest.

“Maybe angels with low grace do,” Dean says, his hand rubbing up and down Cas’ arm soothingly, “but you just have to remember that they’re not real.”

“It could have been real.” Cas takes in a hitched breath. Before Dean can react, Cas’ face is buried into Dean’s shoulder. Dean suppresses a shiver as Cas’ lips lightly ghost the skin under Dean’s collar—it’s probably not even intentional on Cas’ part. Giving into the urge, Dean leans his head against Cas’, ignoring the excitement skittering across his skin at prolonged contact with his friend.

All good things must come to an end; eventually, Cas untangles himself from Dean’s grasp, standing with a weary demeanor. “I would like to shower now.”

Dean stares up at him for a millisecond, then agrees dumbly and stumbles out to the hall, where the bathroom door shuts soundly behind him. As he hears the pipes tentatively spit out a stream of water, Dean attempts to process what in the hell just happened.

He flops onto his bed, determined to get at least a few hours of sleep before his internal clock inevitably wakes him at dawn. He listens to the familiar noises of the house; of Cas running the shower.

He remembers Benny taking showers at unusual hours, when his diner closed late at night, and he wanted to get the smell of food off him.

Dean remembers sometimes slipping into the shower with him, pulling Benny’s broad body to his, the water skirting off their bare skin as they rocked into each other.

The memory doesn’t give him pain as it normally does; it instead sparks another thought. A fleeting idea: to leave his bed and slip into the shower, pulling Cas close, discovering if he is hard muscle, or soft, or if he would go lax under Dean’s grip—

Dean’s breath catches when he hears the pipes shudder, indicating the shower being shut off.

He turns onto his side, clenching his jaw tightly, desperately trying to conjure up more _appropriate_ thoughts about his live-in cupid.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, please let me know what you think. :) you guys are so awesome, how you're sticking with this story and giving me such great feedback. thank you thank you thank you
> 
> if you're liking this story why not spread it around Tumblr a bit? [here's the rebloggable link](https://wanderingcas.tumblr.com/post/157694872858/title-passing-ships-rating-mature-pairing)  
> 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hoo howdy things are starting to happen from here on out let me tell you  
> [there may be a need for warnings in this chapter? it's to do with John's alcoholism. so. read chapter endnotes if you think you might need to, but they're spoilery just warning ya]

Dean can see that Cas’ time on Earth has been wearing him down.

One clue is these nightmares that Cas seems to have almost every night this week; after Dean showed Cas how to use the shower, he’s heard the damn thing creak on at some ungodly hour.

Dean also knows that he’s contributing to making things awkward ever since his libido decided to rear its ugly head. Every time Dean accidentally flirts with Cas by touching him in a joking but too-familiar way, or his eyes linger on his admittedly chiseled and handsome jaw for a bit too long, he knows that he is making the situation worse.

There are other clues, too: instead of watching Dean with focused blue eyes in the back of the classroom, Cas stares blankly at his shoes or out the window, lost in thought. He eats less at dinner and just smiles weakly at Dean instead of offering any conversation back. After Dean goes out to a quick dinner with Lisa on Wednesday night, he comes home to find Cas clutching _Anna Karenina_ in his hands but not turning the pages.

Dean can see that Cas is not physically ill. Instead he seems like a flower that hasn’t gotten any sunlight or water in days; slowly wilting lower and lower. Dean tries to give him attention. He suggests watching a movie one night; he even sits closer to Cas than normal in case that would help. Cas doesn’t even seem to notice his presence, and just regards with television with a neutral stare. He tries to talk to Cas about books; that perks Cas up, for a few minutes, but he becomes quiet again when Dean asks him if Cas has any books in Heaven that he can read for fun.

He’s worried that all of this is going to drive him back to Heaven.

On Thursday, he finally pulls Charlie aside in the hall while Cas is using the bathroom before Dean’s first class.

“Have you noticed anything about Cas?”

“Noticed anything?” Charlie asks, shrugging her arm out of Dean’s grip.

“Yeah, like. Anything off about him.”

She lowers her gaze. “Uh. No?”

“Charlie.”

She sighs explosively. “Okay, fine, Winchester, I know something. But he told me not to tell anybody, especially you. He said he’s ‘working it out for himself’ or some Cas-like bullshit.”

Dean nods with a sigh. “That does sound like some Cas-like bullshit.” He tries to find more information in Charlie’s face, and when he finds none, he says, “Can you promise me it’s nothing serious?”

“I think you should talk to him.”

“So, it is serious?”

“In its own way. Like I said, I think you should talk to him.” She glances over her shoulder. “The bell’s about to ring. I gotta get to class. But, just try and talk to him, okay?” Her neon green kitten heels make delicate clipping noises as she jogs down the hall to her classroom, red ponytail swinging behind her.

Dean spends the rest of his afternoon heavily distracted. What is Cas not telling him? Does he want to go back to Heaven? Is he getting sick and bored of watching Dean drag his feet about the Lisa situation? Did the almost-kiss-that-really-wasn’t-an-almost-kiss really actually freak him out in ways Dean couldn’t detect?

At the end of the stressful day, Dean finds Cas in his usual spot: at the table in the teacher’s lounge. “Ready to go?” he asks, pasting on an obnoxiously bright smile. Cas has been passing his time not observing Dean by reading _Anna Karenina_. His visitor’s pass is slightly lopsided on his jacket.

Cas nods and stands, silently whooshing past Dean, who raises his eyes to the ceiling and briefly prays for patience. They walk in silence down the empty hall, their shoes clacking against tile.

The double doors of the school are barely pushed open when Dean’s stupid mouth decides to blurt, “Did I freak you out?”

Cas stops on the top step and blinks at him. “What?”

“When I…” Dean makes incoherent gestures with his hands. “I just. You know. I flirt, okay?”

Staring at him steadily, Cas begins, “I don’t—“

“With everyone. I flirt a lot. And I get too friendly and shit. But it doesn’t mean anything, okay? I’m not trying to do anything. Or get in anyone’s pants and… especially not yours because,” he gestures to Castiel again uselessly, “you know. So I’m sorry if I’m freaking you out, I just—“

“Dean,” Cas says gently, putting a hand on his shoulder. Dean has to physically bite his lip to prevent anything else stupid from flowing out of his mouth as Cas continues, “You haven’t done anything wrong.”

“When I almost kissed you a couple of days ago,” Dean says, straightening his back, “it didn’t mean anything.”

Cas lowers his hand. Looks away. “I see.”

“I’m sorry—we’re friends, I know that. I just have like—this flirt curse or something. It’s gotten me in trouble before, believe me. And I’m a moron. So, don’t feel like you have to be uncomfortable around me, okay?”

Cas’ posture is as militaristic as Dean saw it when he first met him—spine straight and hands clasped at the small of his back. “I’m not uncomfortable with you, Dean.”

Dean sighs dejectedly, knowing that he hasn’t found the source of the problem. “Then what’s _wrong?_ ”

Cas won’t meet Dean’s eyes. “Time on Earth is taxing,” he admits after a few beats of silence.

Swallowing a fuzzy feeling in his throat and trying not to think too much that he just had his worst worries confirmed, Dean drums his fingers against his leg nervously as they walk toward the Impala. “Don’t worry, buddy. This whole Lisa thing will be done before you know it, and you can go about your business in Heaven.”

Castiel gives him a side glance, looking just about as unconvinced as Dean feels before they pile into the car.

 

* * *

 

Castiel doesn’t mean to upset Dean. He knows that the past week has been difficult when it comes to hiding his emotions. He dreams of Claire almost every night; nightmare or a happy memory, it causes him distress. He has to witness a date and a phone call between Dean and Lisa; all the while looking wistfully at the small wrinkles that form in the corners of Dean’s eyes when he laughs particularly hard at a joke.

The only reprieve he’s had is talking to Charlie about his feelings for Dean. She tries to assure them that they’re only natural, and that having a connection with Dean like that is a good thing.

Castiel tries to explain to her that as an angel—and a cupid trying to pair Dean with his soulmate no less—it’s one of the worst things.

He tries to keep conversation light between him and Dean on the way home. He asks Dean about his day—listens to his recounting of a how a student, Tom, decided it would be a good idea to stick a hand covered with glue into his friend Ronny’s hair so that they could hang out forever. Castiel offers a laugh or a response at the appropriate moments, all the while something very hard twisting in his chest.

There is an unfamiliar car in Dean’s driveway when they pull into it. Castiel turns to Dean for an explanation.

“For fuck’s sake,” Dean grumbles, angrily jamming the Impala into park.

“What’s wrong?” Cas asks, unclicking his seatbelt in time with Dean.

“My dad is here,” is all Dean says an explanation before he leaves the car. Castiel opens his door to follow, but Dean stops it with his hand. “I think it’s better you stay here.”

“Why?”

“My dad…” Blowing out a frustrated sigh through his lips, Dean says, “My dad is probably drunk. And trying to get him home won’t be pretty.”

“I can handle your father, Dean,” Castiel says firmly.

Dean throws his hands up with exasperation. “Suit yourself.” He flicks his keys around his finger before he spins on his heel to walk toward the front porch.

Castiel follows him up the steps, and sees the hunched figure lying in front of the door.

“Dad,” Dean says, toeing his boot into John Winchester’s leg. “Dad, get up.”

John raises his head blearily, blinking at Dean. “Hey there, son,” he slurs.

“Your license was revoked, Dad, what are you doing with the car?”

“Can make my own damn decisions,” John mutters, stumbling, with a great effort, to his feet. There is a flask in his hand. Dean snatches it from him and tucks it into his back jeans pocket.

“Dad, this was fucking stupid.”

“I know, I know. But I had to tell you, Dean—I had this—idea about your Mom—“

Dean pinches the bridge of his nose. “I swear to god, Dad, if you talk one more time about going over to her house to get her to take you back—“

“No, just listen—“

Castiel watches from the steps as Dean tries to placate John’s wild plans. He’s rambling, eyes bright with excitement and alcohol (if the sour tang on his breath is anything to go by, so strong that Castiel can smell it even from where he stands), gestures wild and erratic. John Winchester is a tall, dark-haired man that would probably be as wide as Dean if he wasn’t so underweight.

As Dean is trying to usher John inside to sober up, John makes eye contact with Castiel. “You,” he says, stumbling toward him. “You’re the cupid that Mary was talkin’ about.”

Dean tries to grab onto his father’s shoulder. “Dad, come on—“

“No!” John wriggles out of Dean’s grasp. “A cupid, Dean, really? In your _house?_ And _you_ —“ He jabs a finger into Castiel’s face, “—have a lot of explaining to you, you uptight goddamn bastard.”

Dean is now standing silently at the door, seeming at loss of what to do. Castiel looks calmly into John Winchester’s eyes as the man steps closer.

“Dean’s probably told you all the lies about me and Mary, huh?” he asks him with a smile that’s far too manic to be genuine.

“My mission on Earth isn’t to get involved in that situation,” Castiel says neutrally. “I’m here for Dean.”

“’Here for Dean?’” John repeats mockingly. He fumbles in the pocket of his leather jacket and withdraws another flask, taking a long draw. “Let me ask you something, _cupid_. Where the hell were you bastards when my marriage was falling apart, huh? Why are you here for Dean just because he’s a pansy about _dating_ a girl?”

“I go where Heaven assigns me.”

“Bullshit,” John burps out.

Dean is making a move behind John to try to grab him once more, get him away from Castiel; Castiel shakes his head minutely at Dean. If this is what John needs to do, to yell at the catalyst of his anger, then he’ll let him. Better than Dean having to bear the brunt of John’s drunken rage, as usual.

“What I want to know,” John says, voice pitching lower, leaning forward with a dangerous look in his eye, “is why you bastards let my family walk away from me.”

“I told you, I don’t know anything about that,” Castiel says.

“Sure, you do. All you angels are the same.” His fingers are twitching against his leg where his hand rests against it. “Mary is my soulmate—but of course you know that. You probably know all about it. Dean’s probably told you about how _I_ was the one that drove her away, that _I’m_ the drunk and the problem—but he didn’t tell you the real reason, did he?”

“What happened was likely no one’s fault,” Castiel says calmly. “From what I understand, there is a small percentage of soulmates that never connect, and that’s—“

“She _left me_ for no reason, you got that? She left and took my boys. And where was Heaven, huh? Where were you bastards when my family up and abandoned me, even though you fuckers assign us soulmates that are supposed to stay with us forever? Huh?” He reaches forward and shakes Castiel’s arm violently. “Where the _fuck_ were you?”

Castiel remains still, even in John’s bruising grip. He stares into John’s maddened eyes. “Mr. Winchester, it is very sad that your family was pulled apart. I am sorry for that. But that was years ago, and every choice you’ve made since then has been your own.” He steels himself, knowing these next words may not be taken well. “I’m not here to get your wife back. No one can do that. It’s over.”

Castiel sees the danger in John’s eyes; he knows the alcohol is only enhancing his rage. He knows that John has years of built-up anger toward Heaven, and now Castiel is here, a manifestation of everything John hates. He knows what’s coming; he just wishes that he had more grace to soften the blow.

John only gets one punch in, making Castiel fall against the railing and then he’s sprawling across the dewy and cold grass. He hears Dean roar John’s name, and hears the porch creak in protest when two bodies go tumbling down onto it.

Castiel blinks up at the two men grappling with each other, blood from what must be a cut on his forehead hindering his vision. Dean wrestles John to the car and is pushing him against it, shouting at John to get a grip.

Getting to his feet is an effort; he eventually is able to stumble across the driveway and stand behind Dean, in case he needs his help.

“I’m calling the cops on you,” Dean says to John, voice suddenly pitched low and dangerous.

“They won’t give a damn that I punched a freaking _cupid_ ,” John manages to choke out, Dean’s arm pressing hard into his chest.

“Dean,” Castiel says, putting a hand on his arm. “You don’t want the police involved. Let’s call a cab for him then go inside.”

Dean just seems to push into his father harder. “I put up with a lot of your bullshit,” he says in a harsh whisper. “I clean up your damn messes. But lay a hand on Cas again, and I’ll make sure you rot behind bars so you’ll never do it again.”

John barks out a laugh into Dean’s face. “Look at that, Dean trying to be the patriarch, taking care of everyone. Placing your loyalties, once again, into someone who will let you down. He’s an _angel_ , you idiot, he can take care of himself without a human boyfriend fussing over him.”

“Dad, would you just—“

“You always were the sensitive one, between you and Sam,” John continues, seemingly not even aware of his situation or surroundings anymore. “You would bring in wounded birds and—ha!—friggin _insects_ from the goddamn yard and ask me to fix them. But they’re all lost causes, Dean. Everything you put your efforts into a lost cause—maybe there’s a connection, why everything you touch gets fucked up? Me, Benny, now your stupid attachment to this _cupid_ —“

Castiel can see Dean’s anger fade into something much more terrifying—John’s words are cutting into him deeply.

But John just keeps talking. “—even your own mother, you took her side but you didn’t even know what you were taking her side _for,_ did you? Didn’t even try to get my side of the story of the divorce. Just blindly followed, because that’s what you are Dean, a goddamn follower who lets people just walk all over you—“

Castiel puts a hand on Dean’s shoulder, pulling him back from John. It’s not difficult to do; Dean’s grip on John has become lax and he’s staring at the gravel pavement. “Dean, go call a cab for your father,” he says under John’s relentless babbling.

Dean looks at him with blank green eyes, and nods quietly, walking toward the house.

“Ah, look at him go!” John crows after him. “Just like his mother, always—“

Castiel cuts him off with a cast-iron grip to the man’s bicep, using the weak reserves of his grace to strengthen his touch. “Listen to me very closely,” he says. “You will stand here and cease all talking until a cab arrives. You’re drunk, and do not understand the impact of your words on your son. I won’t allow you to hurt him like this. You don’t realize that you’re doing it now, but when you’re sober later, you will regret it. So you will sit here, and shut up, until a cab comes to take you home.”

John sneers at him. “Or what?”

Castiel leans into John’s space, another hand carefully and dangerous curling on his shoulder, close to John’s jugular. “Or, if you prefer the harder way, I will resort to violence. And believe me when I saw that my uppercut is ten times stronger than yours.”

He scoffs, but there’s still a glimmer of fear in John’s eyes when he sees the fire behind Castiel’s eyes. “As you wish, _cupid,_ ” he spits out.

The cab comes thirteen-point-two minutes later. Castiel makes sure that the car is out of sight before he steps back into the house. Dean is in the kitchen, looking out the window at his dead garden in the backyard.

“Is there anyone who can make sure he gets into his home safely?” Castiel asks.

“His neighbor,” Dean says. “He’s a war vet, like Dad. Always has kept an eye on him. I already called him.”

“Good.” Castiel wipes blood from his eyes; the wound on his head hasn’t quite stopped flowing yet. He’s about to say Dean’s name, ask if he’s okay, when suddenly Dean is in front of him and taking Castiel’s face into his hands, scrutinizing him with worried eyes.

“Where did he punch you?” he asks, gently tilting Castiel’s head down to examine it. “Where did you get hurt?”

“My cheek, and I fell into the railing as well…” Castiel says slowly. “But, Dean—“

Dean grabs his arm and pulls him into the bathroom; sits him down onto the toilet seat and starts to hurriedly dig around the vanity’s drawers. “Just sit there, okay? You might have a concussion, so just sit still.”

Castiel dutifully sits as Dean crouches in front of him with a small flashlight held at his eye level. “Follow this light, okay?” Castiel does. Dean switches off the light and places it behind him. He asks Castiel, “What’s the date?”

“Dean, I—“

“Cas, tell me the date.”

“October 3, 2016.”

“Tell me who your parents are.”

“I have none.”

Dean blinks. “Oh. Right, you’re an angel. Okay, tell me who my mom and brother are.”

“Mary and Sam Winchester.”

“Okay, good. Are you dizzy? Feeling nauseous?” After Castiel shakes his head as a negative, Dean sighs, relaxing his shoulders. “Okay. You probably don’t have a concussion. But we’ll keep an eye on it.”

“Dean—“

“Quiet, Cas.” Dean dabs antiseptic onto a cotton ball and gently presses it to Castiel’s forehead, where the source of the bleeding is. It makes Castiel’s skin sting. Dean looks at it more closely. “It looks superficial. But I’ll put a bandage on it so you don’t bleed spontaneously.”

Castiel reaches out to lay a hand on Dean’s arm as he’s struggling with a Band-Aid wrapper. “Dean.”

“No, Cas.” Dean takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, his hands stilling. “No, we’re not talking about it. Not right now.”

“He was drunk. He didn’t know what he was doing.”

“I don’t _care_ —“

“He didn’t mean the things he said. And I’m an angel, so I’m barely injured.”

“It doesn’t matter!” Dean explodes, throwing his hands into the air. “He _hit you_ , Cas. He treated you no better than the guys he gets into random brawls with at bars. You don’t deserve that shit.”

“Maybe not, but to him I’m an angel that didn’t help him through his divorce. To him, in his drunken haze, I’m the reason that he’s without a family.”

Dean shakes his head with an angry huff, carefully applying the bandage to Castiel’s forehead. Castiel represses a shiver when Dean’s fingertips flutter over his skin. “No, Cas. Don’t make excuses for him.”

“I’m not. I’m simply telling you that—“

“I don’t want to hear it,” Dean says, standing.

Castiel reaches out to grab Dean before he can leave; he ends up grabbing his wrist, which he knows is far too intimate, but he holds on anyway. “Dean. Your father is out of control of his actions. He didn’t mean any of the things he said.”

Dean stills, his wrist becoming limp in Castiel’s grasp. He stares at the floor, uncharacteristically quiet. “I should be used to it by now. He says that shit all the time.”

“Dean…”

Sitting on the bathtub’s edge, across from Cas, he runs a shaking hand over his face. “He’s never violent outside of the bars, though. This is a new one.”

Sensing that Dean’s thoughts are floating away from him into a dark place, Castiel does something he knows he shouldn’t do. He places his hand over Dean’s, which is laying on his knee. Dean looks up at him with wide eyes but doesn’t protest.

“Dean. Listen to me. Don’t listen to your drunk father, who is broken and hurt and not in his right mind. Listen to me, your friend who—“ _loves_ , Castiel’s traitorous mind supplies, “—cares about you. You are selfless, and constantly put others above yourself. And you are doing the best you can with your father’s situation. All right?”

Dean looks at him with eyes that look like they’re seeking Cas’ as a lifeline. “Okay, Cas,” he says softly. “I get it.”

Castiel smiles at Dean reassuringly; the action makes the skin on his cheek stretch and sting, where he knows a bruise is forming in the form of John’s fist. “This isn’t your fault.”

Dean’s smile breaks; he puts a hand over his face and hunches over. “I don’t see how it’s not,” he mutters.

“Well, for one, you’re not the person who punched me.”

One of Dean’s vibrant green eyes looks at him from between his fingertips. He grins. “You’re something else, you know that?”

Castiel replies evenly, “So you’ve told me before.”

Dean chuckles. Looks at his hands for a moment. Then Dean is moving forward and, before Castiel can blink, he’s being gathered into Dean’s arms, enveloped in a warm, strong hug and Dean says by his ear, “Thanks, Cas.”

The last person who has hugged him is Claire. There were very different emotions paired with that hug: he felt protectiveness, care, and love. If there’s a human that he feels like a father figure too, it’s Claire. But Dean… with Dean, it’s love of a different kind. It’s passionate; it’s love that wants to go a step further from the hug. It’s a kind of love that makes Castiel wants to express himself in actions toward Dean, to tenderly press his lips on every inch of his skin to seal in his love for him. With Dean’s strong arms across his back and Dean’s face buried into his shoulder, Castiel is struck by how strongly those emotions barrel into him; how little he can contain them.

He realizes how significant this hug is to him; how desperately he wants to keep holding onto Dean forever.

Instead of voicing, or acting, on these thoughts, Castiel simply rests a shaking hand onto Dean’s back. He locks his emotions behind a door that he knows can never be opened. He ignores the incredulous fact that he’s never felt this way about anyone—much less a human—before. He closes his eyes against the tides of emotion swirling within him and says softly, “Of course, Dean.”

They remain like that for far longer than Castiel knows friends should hug. Neither of them say anything about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: John is in a drunken rage that is also mildly violent (he punches Cas, only once), says emotionally abusive things to Dean


	10. Chapter 10

Dean pushes a mug of coffee tentatively across the table. “Want any?”

Castiel looks up from his eggs that he’s pushing around aimlessly on his plate. He shakes his head.

Trying not to let his stare linger on the ugly red and yellow bruising that’s formed around Cas’ left eye, Dean pulls the mug back toward him. “More for me,” he tries to joke. It falls flat.

It’s been like this since the John incident two days ago: Dean tiptoeing awkwardly around Cas out of guilt and embarrassment, while Cas looks downright uncomfortable in Dean’s presence.

“What are you going to with your Saturday?” asks Cas’ deep but quiet voice.

 “Huh?” Dean asks as he looks up from the steaming coffee.

“Do you have any plans? It’s already eleven-oh-six in the morning.”

“Oh. Well. Lisa wanted to hang out this afternoon.”

“I see.”

“But I don’t have to,” Dean quickly adds.

“Why wouldn’t you?”

“If, uh…I don’t know if you’d…” Dean rubs the back of his neck uncomfortably. He feels stupid for the suggestion. Why would Cas even _want_ to be around him at this point? “Never mind.”

Cas looks at him another minute with sharp blue eyes, then diverts his attention back to his eggs. “All right.”

For shit’s sake. He retreats to the kitchen, letting his breakfast plate clatter noisily into the sink; anything to get some life into this room. In front of him, the bare birch tree’s branches are framed by the window as they sway slightly in the fall gale. Dean sneaks a look at Cas around his shoulder. He’s sitting at the table, despondently hanging his head low toward the blue checkered tablecloth.

Dean faces the birch and clenches his jaw until the point of pain. Cas hasn’t been able to catch a break since he got saddled with Dean. First, he treated Cas like shit. Then, Cas was unlucky enough to have to watch Dean teach every day, instead of doing something useful with his time. Sure, it’s Cas’ job—but he probably didn’t expect to have to babysit a human with a shitty home life and an inability to connect with his own soulmate.

“You know, uh, it’s pretty in the summer,” Dean says, vaguely gesturing at the window.

“Do you mean your garden?” Cas’ voice is dry and deep.

“Yeah.” Dean taps the sink impatiently with his fingers. “You should have come in the summer. It’s ugly right now.”

“It’s waiting for spring,” Cas says softly, “and then it’ll be beautiful.”

His chair clatters noisily when he returns to the table and sits down heavily, his fingers messily trailing through his hair. “Look, Cas. I’m really sorry.”

“Sorry for what?”

“For my dad being an asshole.”

 “It’s not your job to apologize for him,” Cas says, a note of that typical and uniquely Cas-like disapproval in his voice.

“I _know_ that.” Dean huffs out a sigh and stares at his hands. “I should have been more careful. I shouldn’t have let him—just, you should have stayed in the car while I dealt with him.”

 “Contrary to your belief, I can take care of myself,” Cas says defensively.

“Damn it, Cas, I _know_ that—I just didn’t want to see you get hurt.”

“I’m not hurt, Dean.”

After a few tense moments, Cas reaches to lightly circle his hand around Dean’s clenched hands. He says firmly, “Dean. Look.”

He does; Cas lightly brushes a finger over the skin around his multicolored eye. “It’s healing faster than at a human rate. I still have some grace left. It looks worse than it is.”

Dean accuses, “You’re just trying to make me feel better.”

 “I’m an angel, Dean. I’m capable of dealing with a black eye.”

“Well, no shit,” Dean says in a frustrated sigh, “I just…” He stands from his chair and paces back to the kitchen. “I just care about you, okay?” he bursts out at the drops of scattered water lining the sink’s basin. “I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

Cas’ chair scrapes against the floor; he leans against the counter opposite of the sink. “That’s why you’ve been avoiding me for the past few days,” he says.

Dean scoffs. “Okay, sure, overdramatize it—“

“You take everyone’s burdens upon yourself.”

Clenching the edge of the sink tightly, Dean says, “I _don’t—“_

“You take care of everyone, but you have to remember to take care of yourself.”

Dean goes still. Takes a deep breath. “What?” he asks on the outtake.

“You’re a caretaker,” Cas says, calmly—as if he’s not reading Dean’s inner personality like a book. “You want to see everyone happy and content. You do it very well, but not in terms of yourself. You have to remember to direct that same care to yourself, as well.”

He turns from the window, crossing his arms over his chest uncomfortably and scuffing his heel into the blue tile grout. “Uh, I-I guess,” Dean stutters.

Whenever Dean’s dad would make a scene; whenever Dean insisted on cancelling plans to help his drunk father—Benny would get angry. In this very kitchen, their most tumultuous fights came from the subject of Dean’s deadbeat dad. Benny could never understand why Dean would continue to ignore his own self-care in order to help someone who didn’t care about him back. No matter how many times Dean explained, Benny would just get angry and storm out of the house.

The knowledge that Cas, without Dean saying a word, can read Dean and this situation so well slams into Dean like a freight train and leaves him breathless.

Cas gives him a hesitant smile. “I suppose that is the task of your soulmate, though,” he continues, making Dean’s breath stutter uncomfortably, “to make sure that you remember yourself every now and again.”

“I always put my family above myself,” Dean admits, slowly. “It’s how I feel a sense of usefulness.”

“It’s how you feel purpose,” Cas agrees. “Your father doesn’t deserve your care. It’s my opinion, and probably the opinion of many others, that you distance yourself from him. But if you did, you wouldn’t be you.”

“But you defended him,” Dean says, his voice cracking, “a couple of weeks ago. You said that he had a void he needed to fill and that’s why he drinks.”

“I wasn’t excusing your father’s alcoholism, Dean, or his failures as a failure to you. I simply meant to say that I understand why his family’s absence has lead him to this. Without family, he needs ways to fill the void.”

“But he’s got me,” Dean says, his nails digging painfully into his palms. “He shouldn’t feel a void. I’m always there. Why does he—“ Dean stops himself before this conversation travels into the ‘overly emotional’ territory.

“Dean.” Cas takes a step forward, hand out imploringly. “You’ve done your best. But it’s not your job to fix your father; or anybody, for that matter. I’m not upset with you. No one is hurt. Stop beating yourself up about it.”

As he’s looking at Cas, that hug they shared a few nights ago flashes through his mind. How significant it felt; how _good_ it felt to hug someone—Cas—like that. He wonders if he can get this situation to end in a hug.

But, as Cas is taking another step toward Dean, his face just so open and imploring and _caring—_ Dean does what he does best and deflects the situation. He quickly sidesteps around Cas and determinedly makes his way to his bedroom.

“Getting ready to go out,” he calls over his shoulder. “Probably gonna be gone all afternoon.”

Dean’s out of the kitchen so fast that he doesn’t see Cas slowly lower his hand to his side, staring at the spot where Dean once occupied, face fallen.

 

* * *

 

“We need to get a restraining order for Dad,” Dean announces to Mary as he slams a pile of books onto her desk. “These are the books Cas borrowed the other week, by the way.”

Mary turns the top book toward her to frown at the spine. “He borrowed ‘Two Hundred Essential Fungi Species in Northern Mexico’? _Why_?”

Placing a hand on the book to get her attention, Dean says, “Mom.”

She waves her hand, turning from him to transfer the books to a metal cart behind her desk. “You spend too much time worrying about your father, Dean. Let me handle him.”

“ _You_ handle him? He’s out of control!”

She turns to him with hands on her hips. “A restraining order is a little dramatic, Dean. What brought this on?”

He shoves his hands into his pockets and frowns sullenly at the desk. “No reason.”

Sam’s shaggy head pokes around a bookshelf, where he stands taller than usual on a stepladder. “What did Dad do this time?” he asks.

Dean jumps back a foot, startled. “What the—what are you doing here, bitch?”

“Helping Mom in her bookstore, jerk.”

“Wow, Sammy, do your cutthroat lawyer buddies know about your bleeding heart?”

Sam hops off the ladder, coming to stand by Dean and Mary with his hip propped against the desk. “I don’t see you coming to help her out as usual. Where have you been?”

As Dean shrugs at the floor, Mary says slyly, “People have seen you around town with Lisa, Dean. Don’t hide that you like her from us.”

“It’s complicated,” Dean mutters at the hardwood panels.

“It’s simple,” Sam argues, “we haven’t met her yet and that’s a problem. I mean we’ve even met your _cupid_ before meeting her.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Maybe I just don’t want to introduce her to my embarrassingly dorky little brother.”

Mary picks up an apple from her desk, shining it on the front of her denim shirt. “It is strange that even I haven’t met her,” she agrees. “And you _have_ been spending a lot of time with that cupid. In fact, I’m surprised your he isn’t with you today,” Mary adds before taking a generous bite into her apple.

“He’s, uh… home,” Dean says quickly. “With a book. He needs a little time to recover.”

“Recover?” Mary says with a frown.

“From, you know. Being. You know.” Dean cuts himself off awkwardly and pretends to be really invested in a chip in the wood on Mary’s desk. He knows his mother well enough to feel her scrutinous gaze on him.

“You’re doing that thing,” Sam says with a suspicious frown, “with your sentences. You don’t finish sentences when you’re trying to hide something.”

“Dean, what’s going on?” asks Mary.

Dean knew that coming to the bookstore was a bad idea; he should have hung out with Lisa instead. At least Lisa doesn’t ask prying questions. But, Mary has been on his case for days about not visiting the bookstore as often, ever since Cas landed to Earth. He feels bad enough having left Cas at home because he doesn’t want to explain his nasty black eye. But nothing gets past Mary.

 “Something happened a couple of nights ago,” he sighs. “With Dad.”

“What did he do?”

“Well, he got violent, and—“

She immediately is attentive, coming around the back of her desk and taking Dean’s hand in hers. “What happened? Did he hurt you?”

“No, no. The opposite. He came over drunk off his ass and hit Cas. _Cas,_ Mom.”

“He _what_?”

“Oh shit,” Sam says emphatically.

“He’s sporting a nasty shiner at home right now.”

“Oh, my god. That stupid bastard,” Mary groans.

“Who, Cas?”

“No, your damn father!” She pinches the bridge of her nose, huffing out a sigh.

“Is Heaven going to get involved?” Sam asks. “Is Dad in trouble?”

“I don’t think so,” Dean says, shaking his head. “Heaven doesn’t seem to monitor Cas’ activities all that much… and I really doubt they care,” Dean adds bitterly, feeling a little bit resentful not for the first time towards Cas’ so-called ‘family’.

“Did Cas set him off somehow?” Sam asks.

“No—Dad just lost it over the fact Cas was a cupid and,” Dean looks at Mary hesitantly, “he was rambling about the fact that no cupid came to help his marriage. Even though Cas is down here helping me with my soulmate issue.”

Mary taps her bottom lip as she frowns thoughtfully at Dean. “I see.”

“Cas was actually pretty good with Dad. I don’t know how, but he got him to sit down and shut up until a cab came and picked him up. More than I’ve ever been able to do.”

Mary exchanges a glance with Sam. “I see,” she says again.

“Do you see why I want the damn restraining order now?” Dean asks.

 “I just can’t believe he’d do that,” Mary mutters, mostly to herself. “I _told_ him—“

“Wait, what? You’ve talked to Dad?” Dean asks. “I thought you haven’t talked to him in years.”

When Mary is silent, Sam hedges, “Mom?”

Mary looks between her sons steadily, then says, “We need to make tea for this conversation.”

Dean scoffs incredulously, following her back to her desk where she flips on an automatic pot to boil water. Sam is following in his wake, leaning against the desk. “Mom! What the hell? Explain what’s going on.”

She puts both hands on the desk, eyes downcast toward the stained wood. “Your father and I started talking about a year ago,” she admits. “That night last week, the one that you and Sam thought he came over to confront me? I had invited him over. We were talking about him going to rehab; he didn’t like the idea, so we started arguing, and the neighbors made a fuss about it when it actually wasn’t a big deal.”

“Wait.” Dean shakes his head, as if that will help him understand the situation better. “When we were growing up, you could barely be in the same room as him. I don’t understand what changed.”

She smiles, strained, at him. “Sweetheart, you’ve always been caught in the middle.” She flashes a look at Sam. “Both of you. And I’m very sorry for that. I never wanted you to feel like he had to ever pick sides; but you chose mine. You take care of your father, nobly; but you’ve always had my back in this whole divorce situation.” She sighs. “But your faith in me is misplaced.”

Dean stares at her, waiting for her to go on as she pours boiling water into three Looney Tunes mugs that she’s had since him and Sammy were kids. Dean usually refuses to drink tea, but makes an exception for his mom (and, more recently, for Cas), so he doesn’t protest when the herbal steaming crap is pushed in his direction.

Sam, more of an avid tea drinker, takes his mug without hesitation. “We took your side, Mom, because Dad’s always been clearly in the wrong.”

Holding the steaming mug up her lips, Mary shakes her head. “Your father did nothing to drive me out of the house when you boys were young,” she says. “He wasn’t a drunk until after I left him. He was actually a very attentive husband and father. Best one that I could have asked or hoped for. It was very obvious that he’s my soulmate. We clicked effortlessly.”

She takes a sip of her tea, slightly grimacing at the heat. Dean can never figure out why she insists drinking the near-boiling water even before the tea has steeped.

“I just wasn’t happy,” she says. “I talked to everyone for advice—my mother, my friends. They all said the same thing: that it would pass. That John is my soulmate, so obviously, things would work out for the better. But years went by, you boys got older, and I just wasn’t happy. I knew I would be happier on my own, so…I left, with you boys in tow.”

Dean gapes at her. “You just… left?”

“Yeah. Not my finest moment. And John was completely blindsided. I gave no indication of being unhappy, according to him.” She takes another grueling hot sip. “But I never kept him from you boys, not until the alcohol started inhibiting him. I always gave him full access, you remember, right?”

Sam nods dumbly. “Yeah, I… I remember that.” Dean just stares.

She sighs. “So, I’m trying to help him out. Despite everything, he’s still my soulmate, and we connect better than anyone else could with each other. As someone who cares about him, I’m trying to step in to get him to rehab.” Mary looks at Dean with an air of sympathy. “He knows how much you help him; how much of a burden of it is on you. He wants you to be able to go day by day without worrying about him; he wants you to start a family without his alcoholism being a shadow.” She lays a hand over Dean’s. “He does have moments of sobriety; moments that he knows how much it’s affecting you.”

Dean looks away, feeling something thick in his throat. “Yeah, I guess.”

Mary, always observant with Dean, says gently, “Honey, is there something else bothering you?”

Letting loose a humorless and strangled laugh, Dean looks down at the steaming liquid of his tea. “Where to start.”

She leans back in her chair. “Well, I already know what it’s about.”

Dean scoffs, “Doubt it.”

“I think I know too,” Sam pipes up.

Dean glares at him. “ _You_ definitely don’t.”

“We know that you’ve fallen for your cupid,” Sam says nonchalantly before a delicate sip of tea.

“What?” Dean sputters. “That’s just bullshit!”

“Dean, we’re your family,” Mary says exasperatedly, “There are no secrets from us.”

“There’s no _secret,_ Jesus!” Dean pushes himself away from the desk and crosses his arms defensively. “In case you guys haven’t noticed, I’m dating Lisa.”

“Which is why you need to think about her feelings before you do anything irrational,” Sam says solemnly.

Dean pinches the bridge of his nose. “Is this seriously happening.”

“Dean,” Mary says firmly, and Dean lifts his eyes to hers. “When your father punched Cas—did you not remember that he’s an angel? A being more powerful than any of us, and one that John couldn’t possibly hurt from a simple punch?”

“I guess,” Dean says, scuffing the toe of his boot across the dirt floor.

“But you’re still clearly upset by it. You were afraid for him, for being hurt or being in pain—and don’t argue, because I know you,” Mary says with a raised finger when Dean opens his mouth to protest. “The way I saw you treat Castiel during our family dinner, the way that you both were in this very bookstore—it looked like more than friendship.”

“Yeah, Dean, we haven’t even _met_ Lisa yet,” Sam pipes in, “and you barely talk about her. We’ve met Cas already, _and_ whenever I hang out with you, you can’t shut up about him.”

“Guys, Lisa’s my soulmate. I’m dating _her._ Just drop it.”

“There’s nothing wrong with wanting something—or someone—different than your soulmate. If your father and I’s failed marriage teaches you anything, then let it be that.”

Dean feels his stomach sink with instinctual guilt. “Mom, I…”

“Are you connecting with Lisa? Are you feeling anything for her?” Mary pries.

“Well, kinda. Not really. But she’s my soulmate, and Cas says that I’m _supposed_ to feel something, eventually, if I wasn’t so resistant to the idea.” He fights a grin when he thinks about all the times Cas threw out snarky comments about Dean’s ‘insufferable stubbornness’.

Mary puts a hand over Dean’s; her wristwatch brushes cool against his skin. “Dean, let’s be honest. The concept of soulmates is flawed. If you are feeling stronger feelings for someone else, well, you shouldn’t ignore them out of obligation.” She withdraws her hand, absentmindedly rubbing her wrist with a frown. “But, keep in mind Castiel is an angel. He’s practically another species. I don’t want to see you get hurt; there aren’t a lot of documented cases about angels falling in love with humans. It’s likely that these feelings are unreciprocated.”

“What _feelings_?” Dean all but shouts.

Sam claps a reassuring gigantic hand on his brother’s shoulder. “I stand by what I said earlier. You should tell Lisa how you feel. She deserves to know.”

Dean shrugs Sam away, glaring at him. “You’re crazy.” He directs his gaze to Mary. “ _Both_ of you. I know my own feelings, and I don’t need you two making wild speculations like a couple of loons. Butt out of my love life; it’s my business.” He takes an angry swig of tea and firmly sets the mug on the desk. “I’m going back out to reality with the sane people.”

“He’ll figure it out eventually,” Sam sighs to Mary. Dean throws his hands up in disgust when Mary nods and winks in reply.

Muttering curses under his breath, Dean yanks open the door and leaves the crazies to their conspiracy theories.

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you know how in elementary school, when it was your birthday, you brought cookies for the whole class? well, this is my version of that - a chapter for you guys on my birthday :D sorry it's not fluffy or sweet like a cookie.

Castiel is sitting on the couch with Thoreau's  _Walden_ on his lap, legs tucked underneath him, when he hears the front door open.

“I’m gonna be out for a while,” Dean’s voice echoes from the hallway. “Meeting up with Lisa.”

Castiel smooths his hand across the slightly raised ink of the words on the rough pages; he takes a moment to center himself. The strict instructions he received from Heaven echo through his mind: to observe and record Dean and Lisa’s every interaction and date. No exceptions, no excuses.

Weeks ago, this was feasible. Now, Castiel isn’t sure how many more dates he can bear to witness.

He reluctantly leaves his comfortable seat behind and leans against the kitchen doorway as Dean pulls on his boots. “Where are you taking her tonight?” he ventures.

“An Italian restaurant downtown.” Dean grapples with his laces, not looking up at Castiel. “It’s one of her favorite places, I guess.”

Their relationship—his and Dean’s—has changed since the John altercation last week. Castiel can sense it: where Dean’s hands would once easily clasp Castiel’s shoulder, there is now nothing but tentative space between them. Where conversation once flowed easily in their moments alone together, there is silence. Dean is withdrawing from Castiel, and he doesn’t know how to reel Dean back.

“What are you going to do while I’m gone?” Dean asks, shrugging on his leather jacket.

“Read, most likely.”

Grinning in a way that makes Castiel nostalgic for how much Dean used to smile around him, Dean nods. “Sounds about right.” He picks up his keys from the entryway table as he asks, “Hey, how come Heaven doesn’t make you, I don’t know, observe me and Lisa’s dates or something? Don’t you want to know how it’s going with her?”

Castiel stiffens. He would like to avoid explaining how he watches Dean and Lisa from a distance and undetected on every date they’ve been on so far. He doesn’t think Dean would take it so well. “I—I simply ask you afterwards,” he says. “That’s enough information to go on.”

“Dude, you’ve never asked me about my dates.”

“Oh.” Castiel clears his throat. “Well, then… how are they going?”

“Fine. I guess. We’re… connecting?”

“Are you asking me for confirmation about the connection or are you unsure of your word choice?”

Dean spreads out his hands, sighing. “I dunno, Cas. She’s fine. We’re fine. As fine as things can get.”

“All right.”

Turning toward the front door, Dean pauses and looks thoughtfully the keys in his hand. “If things are, well… if things are ‘connecting’ between us now, does that mean you’ll go back to Heaven?”

Castiel, attempting to keep his voice neutral, says, “Even if my job is not done, you are welcome to tell me to leave your house at anytime, Dean.”

“No, Cas, damn it—that’s not what I mean.” Dean takes a heavy step forward; reaches out a hand. Instinctively, Castiel leans forward, wanting to feel once again that comforting palm on his arm, the one that always radiates Dean’s warmth and genuine happiness for being in Castiel’s presence.

But, as quickly as they began to magnetize toward each other, Castiel and Dean abruptly become polarized and take a hasty step apart. Dean stands with his once outstretched hand clenched firmly at his side; Castiel uncomfortably looks at the floor.

“You should go to your date,” he says softly.

“Cas…” Dean moves, slower this side, to stand in front of Castiel. He takes Castiel’s arm. Castiel raises his gaze and sees Dean’s eyes so close to his, the space between them so easily bridged by just leaning forward just a little further…

“Dean.” Castiel takes a step backward, lightly pulling his arm from Dean’s grasp. “You should go on your date.”

 Dean blinks at him; huffs out a frustrated sigh. “Okay, then, I’ll see you later, I guess.”

Castiel nods. The door shuts firmly in front of his face. With a resigned slump of his shoulders, Castiel leans against the wall, eyes closed.

The past week has been taxing; Castiel has observed every one of Dean’s increasingly frequent dates with Lisa. Every smile, flirtatious word, and touch between them, Castiel was obligated to record.

He knows that he has less than appropriate feelings for Dean. He knows he can’t act on it. To have Dean this close, and be unable to do anything about it, is breaking him. It’s wholly illogical for Castiel to think that a part of himself is cracked just a fraction every time Dean smiles and touches someone who is not Castiel, but he can’t think of another way to describe it.

He wishes there were a way to repair the fractures.

Shakily withdrawing his cell phone from his jeans pocket, he dials and waits patiently for Anna’s pleasant greeting on the other line.

After he’s silent for a moment, Anna asks, “Castiel? What’s wrong?”

Castiel shakily exhales. “Can you fly me to Heaven?”

 

* * *

 

Castiel anxiously fiddles with the clasp of the leather notebook between his hands. He uneasily bounces his knee up and down, his ankle occasionally hitting the bench. He knows that he is displaying typical human signs of anxiety; when he’s unable to use his weak grace to stop the emotion, he tries not to be disappointed.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Anna asks beside him, looking no less nervous than he feels.

“No.” Rubbing sweaty palms against the rough denim of his jeans, he admits, “But I have no other ideas.”

“You’re not going to—“ With a hesitant glance around the empty hallway, Anna hushes her voice to a whisper. “You’re not going to tell her about your feelings for Dean, are you?”

“You can’t possibly think I’m that stupid.”

She throws exasperated hands into the air. “I don’t know, Castiel, you’ve been stupider in the past!”

The door to their left opens, and a grey-suited angel pops his head out of the office. “She’s ready to see you now.”

Castiel rises. Anna’s urgent grip on his wrist stops him. “I’ll be fine,” he says with a false smile down at her worried eyes.

“Just promise me that you won’t do what you normally do,” she says.

“What’s that?”

“Piss her off.”

Even before he walks through the door he can smell Naomi’s thick perfume. The smell assaults him, with hostile memories chasing its tail. “Castiel,” says Naomi from behind her desk, lips curled in an unpleasant smile. “Care to tell me what is so urgent that I had my schedule interrupted for you?”

Striding forward with a confidence that he doesn’t feel, Castiel places his cupid observation notebook firmly on her desk. “I want to be taken off Dean Winchester’s case,” he announces.

Naomi raises a skeptical eyebrow. “And what are your reasons?”

“In my opinion, I have done my job to the best of my ability in facilitating Dean and his soulmate to make a connection. Their relationship seems to be a success. I have written down all my observations in here,” he adds with a tap to the notebook.

Naomi trails a finger over the mentioned object, her eyes not leaving Castiel’s. “That’s your opinion, is it?”

Castiel says, firmly, “Yes.”

She smiles at him predatorily. “All right. Let’s say I take you off the case, Castiel. What is your plan after that?”

“I have no plans. Only what next assignment you give me.”

“But this is all part of your master, overarching plan, isn’t it?” She tilts her head and smiles. “The reason why you’ve been so obedient about being Dean Winchester’s cupid is so that I reward your good behavior by giving you back your post as guardian angel to Claire Novak, isn’t it?”

Trying not to visibly stiffen at her accuracy, Castiel admits, “It was my hope that we can discuss it.”

Naomi rises and leans over her hands on the desk. “But surely you must have heard that Claire Novak has been assigned a new guardian angel?”

“I had not,” Castiel says, schooling his expression to remain dispassionate.

“Well, it only makes sense. She does need one, what with all the trauma from the accident; the survivor’s guilt she’s going through. And she most definitely needs help for the confusion that comes from looking back at her memories of the past fourteen years of her life and seeing a mysterious guardian angel-shaped hole in them.”

“It seems logical to give her another guardian angel, then,” Castiel says, his hands hidden against the small of his back so that Naomi can’t see his clenched fists.

“Yes. Very logical,” Naomi purrs. “So, as you see, she’s moved on. Her memories are gone; so is any hope of you being a guardian angel. She’s moved on; it’s time you do, too.”

“What do you mean by that?” Castiel asks through gritted teeth.

“You’ve done a surprisingly good job with Dean Winchester,” Naomi continues with a smile, “and you seem to have a knack at this whole cupid business. I think that it would be best to keep you in this post, trudging in the dirt with the humans, for the rest of your existence.”

Castiel can’t seem to process her words fast enough for a logical reply. He simply blinks at her.

“Oh Castiel,” Naomi tuts, poorly acted sympathy veiling her face, “did you really think you could come in and _bargain_ with me? After what you did? After you violated our laws and changed the natural order of things?”

Castiel wets his dry lips. “I had thought—“

“You thought wrong.” She is suddenly materializing behind him, her breath tickling his ear as she hisses dangerously, “You have no right to bargain with me, _cupid._ Not when your success with this mission is the only thing keeping me from ripping out your grace and banishing you to Earth myself.”

Castiel tries hard not to wince when her grace suddenly slams him into the chair in front of him. “Naomi—“

“Silence.” She waves a hand and he is unable to speak. “Anyway, Castiel, you have nothing to bargain with. The mission is far from a success. What I’ve heard from your superiors is that you are not quite done with connecting Dean Winchester and his soulmate.”

Raising an eyebrow at him, Naomi releases his voice. Castiel grits out, “What do you mean by ‘connection’?”

“Something a little further along than dates.”

“Marriage?”

“Or sex,” she suggests nonchalantly.

“ _Sex?_ ”

With a roll of her eyes, she waves her hand again, rendering him silent. “For an angel millennia old, you can be such a child. Now, let me make this _very_ clear to you. I oversee the rest of your miserable life. I’m not blind to how you’ve been treating Dean Winchester; you don’t think I’ve had people watching you two?” She waves a finger in his face mockingly. “Naughty, Castiel, getting too close to a human again. Leave it to you to make it in the most blasphemous way.”

Castiel feels his face heat. If Naomi knew the accurate extent of his feelings for Dean, everything would be over.

Naomi leans forward and gives him a steady glare. “Listen to me very closely. If you do _anything_ to interfere with this mission, you’re done. No excuses. I will rip your wings to shreds faster than you can blink. Am I making this clear to you?”

Castiel nods feebly. He can feel his heart in his stomach.

“Good,” she says with false pleasantness. She releases her grace’s hold on Castiel; walks back around her desk and sits on her chair. She hands him the notebook. “You can leave now.”

Taking the notebook gingerly, Castiel pockets it in his jeans pocket and begins to walk toward the door. Halfway to it, he turns and says hoarsely, “Claire’s memories…”

 “Will never be restored again,” Naomi finishes cheerfully.

“No matter how successful this mission is,” Castiel clarifies.

“Correct.” She gestures to the door. “Shut it on your way out.”

Castiel ignores her, leaving the door to her office wide open.

 

* * *

 

 “God _damn it._ ”

“You’re going too far left. More to the right.”

“I _know_ how to fix a toaster, thank you.”

“Yeah but you’re—“

“Charlie!” Dean snaps, looking up into her faux-innocent green eyes. “If you want to help, get out your flashlight on that fancy phone of yours and give me some more light.”

“It’s an app, grandpa, not an _actual_ flash—“ She cuts off her sentence when Dean gives her a simmering glare. “All right, all right.”

“How did this even happen?” Dean huffs, digging his pocketknife further into the unplugged toaster. Something rattles ominously.

“It was Abby again, wanting her toast scorched to a crisp in the morning before she does the same to her students,” Charlie says flatly.

He squints at her. “That’s another hell joke about her, isn’t it?”

“Maybe.”

“Charlie.”

“She’s literally from Hell!” she hisses back.

“You know what,” Dean sighs, setting the toaster onto the round table, “I’m gonna have to call it. My kids are getting back from recess soon. This toaster’s toast.”

Charlie pity-laughs at the bad pun and pockets her phone. “I’ll ask Anna later if she can fix it.”

“Your guardian angel?” Dean stands, putting his coffee mug in the sink. He hates it when people leave dishes lying around in the teacher’s lounge, and he’s not about to do the same. “Do you even need guarding anymore?”

“We’re friends,” Charlie shrugs. “And I lead a dangerous lifestyle. Teaching art to elementary kids has its hazards, ya know.”

Dean sits at the round table again, thumbing a crack in the wood. “I thought angels usually fucked off when their jobs with humans are done,” he says, trying not to let his tone be bitter.

“Anna’s different,” Charlie says with a distracted smile, her chin cradled in her propped-up hand. “She’s not like most angels. That’s probably why her and Cas are friends.”

“Yeah, probably.”

Charlie’s eyes focus onto Dean’s face. “Your face has that constipated look. What’s wrong?”

“My _what_?” Dean asks, unable to keep from barking out a laugh.

“Your constipated face! When your eyes get all squinty and you pout your lips like a runway model. You do it when you’re thinking atypically hard or when something’s bothering you. So, which is it?”

“Nothing’s bothering me. I’m great.”

“Sure Dean, and I’m Dorothy. Want me to introduce you to my friend, the tin man?”

“You know, I really could go a day without your sass.”

Charlie grins and flips a red lock over her shoulder. “Well, avoiding my sass is easy. Just talk about your feelings and I’ll leave you alone.”

“Doubt it,” Dean scoffs. He averts his eyes to the crack in the wood again, uncomfortable. He mutters, “Cas is gone.”

“What do you mean, gone? Gone where?”

“I don’t know,” Dean says with a useless gesture of his hands. “Heaven? To another poor soulmate couple to terrorize?” Dean’s fingernail slips over the wood, where he’s pushing his thumb into the fissure. “Either way, he left. Disappeared two days ago and I haven’t seen him since. So, that’s that.”

Charlie pats his arm consolingly. “Are you sure he’s gone for good, though? He disappeared that one weekend, but he came back, right?”

“This time is different. Things between him and I have been … awkward.”

Charlie squints her eyes at him, and asks, “What kind of awkward?”

“Just…” Dean runs an aggravated hand through his hair. He glances at the clock on the opposite wall, behind Charlie’s head; ten minutes until he should collect his kids from recess. Too much time for an excuse to bolt from this. “Things have been tense. He’s acting weird around me. And I’m acting weird around him. So, yeah. It is what it is; he’s done his job, got sick of me, he’s gone back to Heaven, and that’s the end of it.”

Charlie looks hesitantly at her hands. She opens her mouth to say something, then shuts it.

“Charlie…” He looks at her suspiciously. “What do you know?”

She sighs exasperatedly, slamming her palms on the table. “Darn it! This is why people shouldn’t tell me secrets! Dean, I should tell you something. But I don’t think it’s my place to tell. In fact, being the middleman in this situation is very conflicting. And I—”

“Is it about Cas?”

She bites her lip and shrugs. “In a sense?”

“Charlie. If something is wrong with Cas, you need to tell me.”

She bursts out a sigh and puts her face in her hands. “I hate being in the middle of this,” she groans, muffled. “I hate both of you emotionally stunted idiots.”

Dean shakes her shoulder gently. “Charlie, _tell_ me.”

“Fine. Ugh.” She leans back in her chair, nervously twisting a strand of hair between two fingers. “You know that Cas and I have been having these afternoon coffees every once in a while, right? Well, one day he seemed upset. And we… talked… and, um, all the information I can really share with you is that if Cas doesn’t succeed in this mission with you, he’s in trouble.”

“What kind of trouble?”

“Big trouble. Apparently, he pissed off Heaven in the past—a lot. It has to do with that whole Claire situation he’s always so skittish about. That’s why he was assigned to your case, as a redemption of sorts: and him putting you and Lisa together is what is keeping him afloat, basically.”

Dean shakes his head, as if that will help piece together the facts. Cas never gave him any indication that he was in any sort of _trouble._ “Did he say what would happen if he failed?”

“He talked about being put in, I don’t know, some kind of angel prison? Or, worst case scenario, they take his grace and banish him to Earth.” She bites her lip worryingly. “I talked to Anna about that. She says that’s the worst thing that could ever happen to an angel—all the ones she knows that were banished go completely crazy and usually choose to take their own life rather than being mortal.”

“He never told me,” Dean says helplessly, feeling a sour twist in his gut as he imagines any of this happening to Cas.

“Of course he wouldn’t. He’s Cas. And he didn’t want to worry you—he wanted your soulmate connection with Lisa to happen naturally, with no force. That’s what he told me.”

“Son of a bitch is too nice for his own good,” Dean grumbles, trying hard to keep the tides of emotion blank from his face and out of his scratchy voice. He tries to quell panic rising in his throat. His connection with Lisa is far from ‘successful’—they’re just going on dates, barely getting past first base, for shit’s sake. What if Heaven thought that Cas’ progress in this job’s too slow? What if the angels got impatient and he’s in Heaven against his will right now, in pain or scared or—

“Dean,” Charlie says, snapping a finger in front of his face. It breaks Dean from his thoughts. She leans over the table and pats his head comfortingly. “Are you all right, big guy?”

“Why didn’t he tell me any of this,” Dean grits out, fists clenching his knees. “I could have helped him. I could have tried harder with Lisa.”

“He had his reasons for not saying anything,” Charlie says hesitantly. At Dean’s questioning look, she says firmly, “ _But_ those reasons aren’t for me to tell you. I’m just trying to suggest what _could_ be happening. He may not have left you voluntarily, so don’t jump to any crazy conclusions.”

Dean stands abruptly, legs knocking against the table, making Charlie jump back in surprise. “I need to find him,” he says, rushed. “After school. I’m going to find him. Can you talk to Anna about this? Maybe she can help.”

Charlie nods slowly. “Yeah, but… Dean, I don’t want to see you get in trouble with Heaven, too. Maybe it’s not our business.”

“It’s _my_ business,” Dean declares, shoving a thumb at his chest, “because I’m his friend. I won’t let the angels fuck him over like this.” He pushes his chair roughly into the table. “Let me know what Anna says,” he calls over his shoulder as he leaves the lounge.

His house is dark and empty when he goes home that night; the same as it’s been since he left for his date with Lisa a couple of days ago. He still remembers the sinking feeling he felt when he returned to an empty house; the kind of feeling that made him think the weight of his emotions was going to descend him through the floor.

Dean leans against the front door, closing his eyes tight against those thoughts. He mutters into the dark, “Where are you, Cas, you son of a bitch?”

 

 

 


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, lovely readers, this chapter is angsty. According to one of my betas, the angsty-est one I've written so far. So, proceed with caution. There's no warnings, just... angst. 
> 
> I'll give you cookies at the end if you need it. <3

The rough bark of the tree pushes into Castiel’s back as he leans against it with folded arms. His eyes strain as he focuses on the back door of Dean’s school.

Since he’s been observing Dean and his classroom for weeks, he knows that Dean’s students will be released for recess in six minutes, just past noon (it’s sometimes eight; there are a few children in the class that eat lunch impossibly slow).

Castiel both dreads and yearns for that door to open.

When that door opens, he’ll see Dean and, for the first time in four days, Castiel will be able to selfishly bask in the joy of being close to him.

But, when that door opens, he’ll see _Dean,_ who will likely be furious with Castiel and not want to speak to him.

Over the past few days, Castiel has tried to go back to Dean’s house, multiple times. Some mornings he got as far as almost turning down Dean’s street, glimpsing his canary yellow house just a block down. But, every time, his feet developed a mind of their own and carried him as far away as possible.

Now, Castiel steps forward to the chainlink fence, gripping the cold metal between his palms. The door a few yards away is inconsequential: chipping red paint, rust creeping up its sides. Yet somehow it holds behind it the apex of Castiel’s life; his compass. He knows he won’t be able to breathe easily until Dean comes through that door.

It’s inanimate for another moment before bursting open to a wave of children, making Castiel  tense at the sudden movement. They leap and scramble over each other in a race to get to the playground. At the crest of the wave is Dean, herding students through the door and yanking some out of the way before they topple into each other. Castiel’s heart twinges unexpectedly.

Dean is wearing the blue button-up shirt that he must have finally ironed (he was unable to wear it all last week because it came out wrinkled from the wash), and the khakis he’s always proclaiming as his most comfortable pair. His eyes are bright as he smiles at his students; his countenance is tired.

Castiel resists the urge to jump the fence and run to him. During the nights that he slept on a park bench, Castiel thought of him constantly. Amidst his thoughts of Claire, and thinking of how confusing and painful her life must be after Castiel destroyed it, Castiel attempted to come to terms with his feelings for Dean. He built mental shields, convinced himself that no good could come from his emotions, used whatever grace he had left to block the pathos side of himself—he thought it was successful. But, seeing Dean stride across the playground, laughing sunnily at a bouncing student beside him, every attempt that Castiel made to not feel for this man comes undone.

Castiel sees a few children that he knows from Dean’s classroom in the crowd: the redhead that chewed on the tips of her hair throughout class, the boy with the thick-rimmed glasses who always asked Castiel questions in the back of the class. Dean is pushing them to go to the playground, talking to them in that easy way that he always does. He watches them run, smiling; then his familiar green eyes lift to see Castiel.

Castiel hesitantly holds up a hand in greeting. Dean’s face, once soft, turns hard and guarded. His shoulders stiffen, and he walks toward Castiel at the fence, across the field.

Castiel only decided to come to see Dean because of Anna. She had found Castiel that morning on the bench, glaring down at him as he squinted against the rising sunlight.

“This is ridiculous, Castiel,” she had told him. “Is this your plan? To sit here for the rest of your life and ignore your problems? Ignore Dean?”

“I can’t control them,” Castiel said, a note of desperation in his voice. “My emotions. I barely have any grace left. Any shields I could possibly make… they’re…” He shook his head helplessly.

Anna bent down before him, her eyes sad and serious. “Falling in love with a human isn’t wrong,” she had told him. “But leaving Dean to distress about your absence is.”

“I don’t know how to go back,” Castiel confessed softly. He knew that Anna understood what he meant: he can’t go back and watch Dean and Lisa fall in love. He can’t facilitate that connection for the next few days, or months, or years. It hurt too much. “You know how I feel about Dean. You know that I’ve only been pushing through this mission because of the small _hope_ that maybe I would get Claire’s memories back, if I was successful. But that’s all gone now. There is no way of regaining Claire’s memories; no matter what I do.” He feels his nails dig into his palms. “There isn’t a point.”

“There _is_ a point,” Anna insisted, laying her hand on Castiel’s hand that trembled on his knee. “There’s still Dean.”

There’s still Castiel’s friendship with Dean; there’s still a way to be close to Dean, even if it is not in the capacity that Castiel wants it. A life with Dean, even if with limited emotions, is better than a life without Dean.

“And I’ll help you, Castiel, whatever way I can,” Anna told him. “But you’ve been gone from Dean too long.”

He had only sat on the bench for a few moments after she left him before he rose to his feet, walking quickly in the direction of Dean’s school.

His memories shatter and morph to a glaring Dean standing in front of him. Castiel takes a steadying breath and takes a step toward the fence separating them.

“So,” Dean says, arms crossed over his chest and eyes narrowed, “looks like you’re back from wherever you suddenly flitted off to.”

“I meant to tell you I was leaving,” Castiel says lamely, his voice constricted.

Dean scoffs. “Okay, sure. Do you even know how long it’s been?”

“Three days, twelve hours, twenty four minutes and three seconds,” Castiel says softly.

Dean looks caught off guard, momentarily; he catches himself and mutters disdainfully, “Fucking robot.” He looks over his shoulder; shakes his head as he looks at his students on the playground.

“I was in Heaven,” Castiel explains when Dean has finally looked at him again.

“For four days?”

Not meeting Dean’s eyes, he says, “No. Only for a few hours. Then I…” Castiel clears his throat, realizing in that moment how childish he’s been, how stupid— “Then I needed some time to think.”

Dean laughs bitterly. “So, the same bullshit reason you fed me last time.”

The last time Castiel disappeared for only two nights, Dean was sick with worry. Castiel remembers this now. He should have remembered it earlier.

“Are you going to even tell me what happened in Heaven that made you upset enough to not come home?” Dean asks.

“It’s…” Castiel wets his dry lips, staring at a broken link in the chained fence. “It’s not important.”

“Not important, huh.” Dean puts hands on his hips, shakes his head and laughs humorlessly at the ground. He begins to pace, running a hand through his hair. “‘Not important.’ You got some nerve, you know that? Fucking _disappearing_ _—_ making me think that—that you were—” The fence rattles when he smacks his palm against it with a frustrated growl.

Castiel stuffs his hands in his jacket pockets, frowning across the playground. “A few of your students are coming over here,” Castiel says softly.

Looking over his shoulder to confirm it, Dean straightens, his face working hard to erase evidence of his emotions. “Hey, kiddos,” he says with false nonchalance when they bounce up to his side.

“Mr. Cas, you’re back!” one of the students, Ronny, if Castiel remembers correctly, grins at him. “Are you going to be in our afternoon classes?”

“Yeah, we’re going to be finger painting!” Alex giggles, wiggling her hands at Castiel.

Castiel smiles. “That sounds fun,” he says, sincerely—he and Claire used to fingerpaint in her basement when she was young.

Ronny pulls impatiently at Dean’s shirt. “Mr. Winchester, is Mr. Cas going to come to class with us?”

Dean’s eyes flicker to Castiel’s; in them, Castiel sees Dean’s frustration at being caught in the middle like this. Castiel knows fully well that the last thing Dean wants is for him to be in his classroom.

“Sure, Ronny,” Dean says resignedly, “he’ll be there. Better go, though, you only have ten minutes of recess left.”

Ronny and Alex shriek at that piece of information, taking off in a dead run toward the swings.

Castiel says to Dean, “I don’t have to come if…”

“It’s for the kids,” Dean shrugs, not looking at him. “They’ve been asking about you for days. Gotta shut them up somehow.”

“Dean… I’m sorry.”

Dean looks at his shoes for another minute, avoiding Castiel’s eyes. Castiel resists the impulse to reach his fingers through one of the links of the fence, touch his arm comfortingly, clasp his wrist; some way to touch him without it being inappropriate. Some way to soothe the tension from Dean’s hunched shoulders.

“We’ll talk about it when we get home,” Dean finally says. He pauses, haltingly asking, “You… you _are_ coming home, right?”

Castiel suppresses the warmth that blooms at his chest from Dean calling his home both of theirs. “Yes, I’m coming home.”

 

* * *

 

“You’re probably hungry,” Dean says, yanking on the handle of the fridge. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Castiel nod hesitantly, taking a seat at the kitchen table.

Dean hunts for sandwich materials and spreads them onto the counter. “When’s the last time you ate?” he asks.

“The night you tried to make Shepherd’s Pie.”

Dean turns at him, shocked. “That was five days ago, Cas.” As Castiel is nodding in affirmation, Dean’s brain catches onto Cas’ words and he spurts, “Wait, whaddaya mean _tried_ to make Shepherd’s Pie?”

“The potatoes were soggy,” Castiel says with a small grin.

“Fucking culinary snob,” Dean grunts, untwisting the mayonnaise jar with vigor and roughly spreading it onto a piece of bread. “You can’t just not eat for five days, Cas. You’re being ridiculous.”

Sandwich finished, Dean turns to dump it on the table in front of Cas; he freezes when he sees Cas looking at the papers spread across the kitchen table.

Cas’ face is twisted in confusion. “Dean, what is all this?”

“Uh.” Dean hurriedly pushes the papers together, to get them off the damn table and away from Cas’ eyes. If he had known that Cas was going to show up out of the blue, he would have cleaned the papers up and put them out of sight. “It’s nothing, just some… research…”

Cas picks up a flier and reads, “‘Monthly Manifesto for Main Street’s Soup Kitchen’?” He snatches another before Dean is able to, and intones, “‘Missing Persons Report in Douglas County’?”

Dean gathers the rest of the papers in his arms and dumps them in the garbage; kicks a map on the floor toward the living room. He sets the plate of sandwich angrily in front of Cas, making the angel flinch. “Like I said, it’s nothing. Now eat your damn sandwich.”

Eyebrow raised, Cas says in that voice of his when Dean is doing something stupid and he doesn’t approve, “Dean. What’s going on?”

Dean huffs out a sigh, feeling embarrassment color his cheeks. He sits opposite of Cas and distractedly, nervously, picks at a scab on his hand. “I thought you were in trouble.”

“In trouble?”

“Yeah. Now eat.”

Giving Dean an exasperated look, Cas pointedly takes a bite of the sandwich. After he swallows, he says, “Tell me what you mean.”

Dean knows that he can’t put off this conversation for long; might as well rip it off like a bandaid. “You just _disappeared_ , Cas. I didn’t know what to make of it. So I…I looked around. Soup kitchens, police reports, John Does found in the area…” He trails off, shrugging. He tries hard not to show on his face the panic he remembers feeling when he read a police report of a man found face-down in the river with dark hair and blue eyes, barely six foot.

“You thought I was hurt?” Cas asks.

Dean laughs incredulously, palm smacking the table. “Seriously? You didn’t come back for _four_ _days_. What was I supposed to think was wrong? And Charlie was spouting all this shit about suicidal graceless angels and—I thought something really bad had happened. You didn’t even bother to think about calling me?”

“What do you mean, suicidal graceless angels?”

“I thought you were _dead_!” Dean bursts out. He immediately regrets it when he sees the naked shock and pain on Cas’ face.

Cas begins to rise from the chair, halfway aborting the motion, sitting down again and placing a hand on the table. “Dean, you had no reason to worry about me.”

“Of course I did, Cas, you idiot!” Dean stands to pace around the kitchen anxiously, tripping over the leg of his chair. “You know, for an angel you’re pretty goddamn thick. Did you think I wouldn’t worry if you decided that this job of yours was complete and you’d just simply fucked back to Heaven without saying goodbye? Did you think I wouldn’t worry about if you’d piss off someone up there and you were dead on the side of a road somewhere?” He stops his pacing to stand in front of Cas, arm outstretched. “You say we’re friends, Cas, but making a friend worried sick by not communicating is not what friends _do_ to each other!”

Cas sets his shoulders square and indignant, firmly standing on his feet. “I needed space, Dean,” he says in a calm and lowered voice. The bastard doesn’t even sound fazed, Dean thinks. “I’m sorry I left you to worry, but I needed time to think. And I couldn’t do that here.”

Dean knows he’s being stupid, knows that he’s overreacting. But the anger is boiling over and he can’t stop himself from getting into Cas’ space, and growling, “Why the hell couldn’t you do that here?” He can feel Cas’ breath on his cheek.

“Because you’re a distracting presence and you get upset easily and you yell when you don’t understand things!” Cas yells back, the anger that he was holding back glimpsing through the cracks of his calm facade.

“God, Cas, do you even _care_ about my feelings?”

“Of course I do!”

“Then stop disappearing on me, okay? I can’t fucking _lose_ you too!”

Castiel blinks at him. Dean stares back, speechless in the wake of his accidental confession. He steps away from Castiel, the fight draining from his shoulders, his body slumping into a kitchen chair. He holds his head in his hands.

“Dean…” Castiel sinks into a chair beside him. “Help me to understand why this is upsetting you so much.”

“It’s because of that fucker,” Dean says, muffled, into his hands. He doesn’t mean to tell Cas that, either, but the last four days have run down his emotional walls and he is tired of them things from each other.

“Who do you mean?” Castiel asks.

“Benny. It’s because of Benny.”

“He disappeared?”

Dean nods into his hands. “He just… left.” He drops his arms to rest on the table; shakes his head to clear it. “Sorry. I’m being a dumbass.”

“Dean, you can tell me what’s on your mind.”

Dean knocks his fist a few times against the tabletop; an action he absentmindedly notices but doesn’t stop. He finally sighs and breaks out of his defensive position, leaning back in his chair and running a hand through his hair. “We talked about marriage sometimes, you know. We knew our soulmates were out there, but we didn’t care. Had the tattoos and everything, but we never went looking for them.. He didn’t like the idea of soulmates either.” Dean huffs, hands laced behind his head, tilting his head toward at the ceiling. “I never suspected a thing.”

Castiel frowns, eyes trained on the abandoned sandwich in front of him.

Dean follows his gaze. A squirt of mayonnaise is making its slow escape through the crust of the bread. “Eat more,” Dean says, pulling the plate across the table and to Castiel, who gives him a look, but picks up the sandwich and eats dutifully. Dean attempts a small smile, and says, “There was a waitress that he hired: Andrea. They found out during her first shift that they were soulmates. But Benny went a whole seven months before he decided to walk out. He just left. I thought he was dead in a ditch somewhere before he finally called me, a few months later.” Dean scrubs his face with a hand. “He took her to Louisiana, introduced her to his family. They were living together.”

Castiel sighs. “I’m so sorry.” He pauses, frowning. “I would like very much to punch this man you call Benny in the face.”

Dean gapes at him for a moment, then bursts into laughter. “Me too, pal,” he chuckles.

“I can see now why the sudden disappearance of people would upset you.”

Dean’s fingers take up a nervous drumming rhythm against the table. “Yeah. I’m sorry, for going off the wall about you leaving. I should have known you were in Heaven. It’s so… logical.”

There’s a ghost of a smile on Cas’ lips when he meets Dean’s eyes. “But you’re not logical, Dean. That’s why I enjoy your company.”

Dean chokes out a laugh, brushing his palm against the table nervously, scattering a few stray crumbs to the floor. “Thanks, man.”

They let the sound of the clock on the kitchen wall fill the silence for a few moments. Cas says, “I’m sorry that happened to you, Dean. And that it still affects you.”

Dean doesn’t even realize what he’s saying until he tells Cas with a shrug, “It only affects me when someone I love goes missing.”

 

* * *

 

The words from Dean’s mouth linger in the air; Castiel stares at Dean with wide eyes, Dean looking back at him with equal shock. Dean moves to quickly amend, “Cas, I’m sorry, I don’t—”

Castiel abruptly stands, his knees knocking against the table, causing the slices of his sandwich to fracture from each other. Dean follows, stumbling over his words.

“Cas, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, I’m sorry, man, I didn’t mean to…” He trails off, scratching at his hair. “I take it back, okay?

Castiel feels the frustrating dichotomy of one part of his mind telling him to run, the other telling him to stay. Any words he could say stick to the walls of his throat. He finds he can only stare at Dean, who is looking at him with guilty eyes.

“Cas?” Dean asks, looking hesitant and small and unsure.

It’s through Dean’s searching green eyes that Castiel realizes. Like a jolt, the emotions in Castiel’s chest piece together. The frustrating cracks and fissures in Castiel’s resolve that Dean has been causing, the feeling of being broken—they suddenly piece together in a comprehensive and brilliant whole. Everything is so clear to Castiel now; he’s an idiot for not realizing it sooner.

“Cas? Should I—“ Dean fumbles with his words in the wake of Castiel’s stunned silence. “Do you want me to—“

“Cease talking,” Castiel says in one breath, surging forward and kissing Dean fiercely in the next.

He hears Dean make a noise of surprise; then he completely melts into Castiel. His lips are softer than Castiel had imagined; his warm breath on Castiel’s skin makes his body hum. They slowly part; Dean's eyes are closed, eyelashes fluttering. Castiel feels his breath stolen when Dean’s eyes slowly open to reveal a brilliant and sparkling green.

“What… in the hell was that,” Dean asks on the wave of a breathless laugh.

His impulsivity fading, Castiel shakes his head, says, “I’m sorry, I didn’t—“

“Don’t you dare apologize,” Dean warns. “Don’t you apologize for—something that’s so—“ Dean growls in frustration when words fail him, and instead depends on action: he cups Castiel’s cheek with one hand, pulling Castiel forward by the shirt with the other. Dean’s lips impatiently seek his, and Castiel shivers when he feels Dean deepen the kiss, pressing their chests warmly together.

“Dean,” Castiel can’t help but groan out when Dean playfully bites at his lip.

“Cas,” Dean says back, reverently, his hand firmly and slowly stroking the nape of Castiel’s neck. He says between kisses, “You have no idea how long… I’ve wanted to…”

“I know the feeling,” Castiel says with a sigh. He leans into Dean’s lips as they move to his neck, gently mouthing the skin behind his ear—

Castiel holds back a whine of protest when suddenly Dean’s warm hands are off his body; Dean is backing away and holding his head, frowning at the floor.

“No, wait, damn it, Cas,” he mutters. He looks up at him helplessly. “What about Lisa?”

The euphoria that the kiss brought shatters into a hundred pieces. Responsibility, Naomi’s threats if he doesn’t complete the mission, the reality of the last few days—it’s all suddenly crushing down. “Lisa,” he repeats stupidly.

“This isn’t fair to her,” Dean says. “I should have talked to her before—“

Castiel turns from Dean, rubbing his temple furiously to arrange his thoughts into order, but he's constantly interrupted by how perfect it was to have Dean that close—the feeling of his skin—his warmth—

“Dean,” he says firmly, attempting to remain as blank and impartial as possible. He turns to face his friend. “Please, forgive me for my actions. It was a long few days and I’m tired. I’m not thinking clearly.”

Dean stutters out, “What do you—“

“I am confusing my emotions. I should never have kissed you. I am becoming too close to the situation. You are correct: it isn’t fair to Lisa. If you are feeling unrestrained feelings of lust, then you should look to her for release.”

“My… lust?” Dean sputters. He reaches out a hand, to take Castiel’s wrist and pull him closer, hesitatingly. “Cas, what are you talking about?”

Castiel takes a step back, regretfully shaking his hand from Dean’s hold. “You’re compromising your connection with Lisa. I don’t think we should spend more time together until you collect yourself.”

“Collect my—“ He can see the flash of hurt in Dean’s eyes before the walls begin to go up. “Okay. I get it. They did something to you in Heaven to make you act all robotic again, is that it?”

“I was simply reminded of my priorities.”

“Yeah, what priorities? Were you thinking about them when you _kissed_ me and lead me on? Is this all some big joke to you?”

“Dean.” Castiel can’t stand in the room a minute longer. “I’m sorry for any hurt I might have caused you.” He stands there hesitantly, watching Dean’s shoulders heave with heavy breaths, before turning toward the hallway. “I’ll be in my room.”

“Cas.”

Dean’s voice, contorted with hurt and confusion, makes Castiel stop.. “So that’s it? I’m just your little human toy to pick up and play with whenever you want?”

Castiel’s nails digging into his palms serve as painful reminders to keep his control; he neutrally says, “I’m on Earth to do a job: pair you and Lisa, your soulmate, together. I’m not going to interfere with that.”

“Okay. Okay, I see.” Dean goes between nodding and shaking his head, gaze averted to the floor, biting his lip. His expression is frighteningly neutral when he looks at Castiel and says, finger pointed accusingly, “If this is what it means to be your friend, or whatever the fuck you were trying to pull back there, then I’m done. Do whatever you need to do for your ‘job’, but as far as you and I go, consider us no more than strangers. Got it?”

Castiel turns on his heel so that Dean won’t see the trembling in his hands, or the uncontrolled, painful contortion of his expression as Dean’s words punch him squarely in the chest, leaving him feeling ill. He walks quickly to the bedroom, before the cracks in his emotions take him over.

After losing Claire’s memories of him forever, there was a point: there was Dean. Now, he doesn’t even have Dean’s friendship.

As he softly shuts the door behind him, he hears,, “Stupid, goddamn heartless angel.”

Castiel leans against the door and slowly slides to the ground. Distantly, in the kitchen, he can hear something slam against the wall. He pulls his knees up to his chest and buries his face into his hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you need to therapeutically yell at me [here's my tumblr](https://wanderingcas.tumblr.com). 
> 
> Thanks so much for sticking with the story you guys. One more chapters of these boys being stupid and we finally get some happiness, I PROMISE.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this came out a little late, guys. that season 12 finale hurt my body and soul. had to find a corner and cry a little.
> 
> (also, in regards to my fic the pre-getting-together-angst is ending very very soon, i promise. i can't take much more myself, honestly!)

Dean gets no sleep that night.

He paces the hallway, head in his hands, trying to resist the urge to break anything more. He already did a number on a few mugs and a kitchen chair in the immediate aftermath of that goddamn kiss.

He sometimes gets to Cas’ door, holds up a fist to knock, only to abort the motion every time. He tries to say apologies through the door; the words never come out, but sometimes he presses himself closer to the wood that separates them, as if his regret for what he said last night would somehow bleed through and reach Cas.

He stays most of the night propped up against the door, sitting with his knees to his chest. He replays the kiss over and over in his mind: the way that Cas went from stoic angel to a warm and relaxed man in his arms, the heat and promise in that kiss that was never explored. 

Dean knows that something negative was triggered in Cas when he mentioned Lisa; he knows that Cas has this innate sense of duty that makes him feel really guilty if he ever slips up. He knows why Cas broke the kiss, but not why he said the things he did. 

Dean feels the stinging rejection from Cas; the rejection that Dean has always been afraid of. 

Not to mention, Dean’s enthusiastic  _ response  _ to the kiss; of course he always found Cas attractive, but the way that kiss had felt like coming home, somehow? Has he really fallen for Cas that much? More than Lisa? Hell, aren’t  _ soulmates  _ supposed to be the ones that people fall this hard for? 

Dawn is creeping through the living room window when Cas’ door finally opens, making Dean fall back when what he had been leaning on is suddenly gone. He scrambles to his feet and avoids Cas’ eyes. “Morning,” he grunts.

“Hello, Dean.” Cas hasn’t changed since the night before and his hair is sticking up in all directions.

Dean huffs out a sigh and runs a hand through his hair. “Listen. I’m…” He stops, something clogging his throat — anger, probably — and making whatever apology he was going to say die. “I’ll make coffee. Want some?”

Cas shakes his head. 

“Okay.” Dean ignores the fact that this is the first time Cas has ever said no to morning coffee with him. He clenches and unclenches his fist, awkwardly looking at his bare feet, wondering what to say next.

“But maybe some food?” Cas hesitatingly adds.

Dean looks up with a hopeful smile. “Yeah?”

“I haven’t had much to eat, lately.”

“That’s the understatement of the year, you big idiot.” Unlike the insults Dean flung at him last night, this one is said fondly. “I’ll make you a huge breakfast. Scrambled eggs and everything.” Before he turns towards the kitchen, adds, very seriously, “With no onions.”

Cas looks surprised that Dean even remembered his deep dislike for the vegetable (Dean really doesn’t understand it, but every time Dean cooks Cas likes to poke his head in the kitchen and clarify that onions will not be ruining the dish this time). He agrees, slowly, “No onions.”

Pans clatter and food is tossed across the counters as Dean plunges into cooking mode. This, he can do. He’s shit at apologies when it comes to words, and he says things he doesn’t mean when he’s angry—but he can cook Cas food. He can reassure him that nothing has changed, despite last night, through a meal. Friends cook for each other, after all.

Cas sits at the kitchen table the whole time, eyes averted to his hands, obediently silent. 

Maybe Cas doesn’t want to say anything he doesn’t mean either, Dean thinks. Maybe everything he said last night was said out of anger, too.

Dean clears off the plate of the abandoned sandwich from last night, sitting there like a bad memory, before presenting Cas with a heaping pile of scrambled eggs with red peppers, turkey bacon, and spinach. “This should cover some of the nutrients you skipped out on over the last few days,” Dean offers.

Cas looks at it, eyes at half mast. “Thank you, Dean.”

After Cas doesn’t move for a few moments, Dean picks up the fork for him with an exasperated sigh and forcibly puts it into Cas’ hand. “You gotta eat, man.”

Instead of listening, Cas looks up at him with unbridled emotion. “Dean, I deeply regret my actions last night,” he says.

Sighing, because he hasn’t had enough coffee yet for  _ this  _ conversation, Dean turns to switch on the coffee maker on the counter. “It’s fine, Cas.”

“No, it’s not fine. Don’t say it’s fine. I irrevocably changed the nature of our…” Cas pauses. “Our aborted friendship.”

Dean sighs exasperatedly, running a hand over his face. He looks at anything in the room but Cas, hoping he would just let this  _ go.  _

“I’ve been trying to handle my emotions,” Cas is explaining, plunging forward when Dean doesn’t say anything. “That’s why I had to be away from you for all that time. I’ve been trying to remain… impartial but I…” He sets his fork down, absentmindedly running a shaking hand over the table. “I failed, Dean, and I apologize. I’m so sorry.”

Dean puts a hand up. “God damn it, Cas, stop.” He sits on the other side of him, snapping his fingers in the air. “Hey, look at me. Snap out of it.” When he has Cas’ sorry and sad eyes on him, Dean says, “We both said things we didn’t mean last night, okay? Let’s just drop it. As far as I’m concerned, that kiss never happened, cool?”

Cas stares at him, unnervingly silent. Finally, he agrees, “‘Cool’.”

“Great. Now eat your damn eggs.”

Cas nods; he sits up slightly. He picks up his fork and begins to push at his eggs. 

Standing to pour himself a much-needed cup of coffee, Dean decides not to question what Cas meant by emotions that he has to ‘get a handle on’. This whole situation is screwed up enough already. Dean would like to just let it go.

Dean’s phone buzzes in his pocket. He takes it out and sees his mom’s number on the screen. “Hey, Ma,” he greets.

“Hi, Dean. Cas turn up yet?”

Dean glances over at Cas shoveling eggs into his mouth like he hadn’t eaten in—well, days. “Sure did. Looking right at him.”

“Good, I’m glad. I know you were worried.”

“Yeah, well.” Dean coughs uncomfortably, trying hard not to remember how he called his mom in a panic over the weekend when he realized Cas was gone. “What’s up?”

“It’s your father,” he hears Mary sigh. “I was going to go over there to check on him today, but I’m tied up at work. Can you go see him?”

“What did he do this time?”

“All I know is that he relapsed last night. I talked to him this morning; he’s fine and coherent, but he probably needs a meal or something.”

Dean pinches the bridge of his nose. “This shouldn’t be your job.”

“It shouldn’t be yours either,” Mary shoots back, “but he’s family. Are you able to do it, or should I call Sam?”

“Oh, Jesus, don’t get Sammy to do it. That’ll probably end up in a murder.” 

“Dean,” Mary admonishes. 

“Point is, Mom, yeah, I’ll do it.”

“Thank you, my problematic child.” 

“Sure.” Dean hangs up with a roll of his eyes. He leans against the counter on his hip and slurps his coffee loudly. “Gotta go to my dad’s,” he explains to Cas’ questioning look.

“I see,” Cas says.

“Probably be back in a couple of hours. I texted Charlie last night to tell her you’re back, and she’s been blowing up my phone, asking to come see you. Want me to invite her and Anna over here?” 

Cas lifts a shoulder; the closest thing to a shrug that Dean’s seen him do. “If you don’t mind them here.”

“‘Course not. They’re my friends as well as yours. Well, Charlie anyway. I don’t know Anna that well.” 

Cas looks astounded by this statement. “I suppose that they are my friends,” he agrees wonderingly. 

“Yeah, stupid. I’m not the only one you got.” Dean sets his coffee on the counter reluctantly. “Well, better get ready.” 

He doesn’t mean to, but he can’t help but slap a comforting hand on Cas’ shoulder as he’s walking by. “Have a good day, man.”

“Uh. You as well, Dean.”

*

Dean does invite Charlie and Anna to the house. They appear on the doorstep an hour after Dean leaves, with Charlie holding a package of coffee (a new distributor she found online) high above her head, and Anna giving Castiel a warm smile.

But when just an hour later, due to Charlie’s prying, Castiel accidentally reveals the details about last night, he isn’t so sure that inviting them over was a good idea.

“You kissed  _ who now _ ?” Charlie gasps, leaning forward on the table, eyes comically wide. Anna, next to her, remains thin-lipped and silent.

“Dean,” Castiel repeats with a long-suffering sigh. “I…I kissed Dean.”

“When?  _ How?  _ All the dirty details, Cas!”

“It was a disaster,” he replies flatly. 

Charlie’s back hits the chair as she slumps away, face crumpling in sympathy. “Well, that’s not what you want to hear. What happened?”

“He has a soulmate, Charlie,” Castiel says, surprised that she’s not taking it into consideration. “It was a stupid thing for me to do.”

Charlie smacks her palm against the table, making Castiel and Anna jump minutely. “Oh, screw soulmates! It’s just another elaborate ruse from Heaven to make us their little puppets because they’re control freaks!” She gives Anna a side-eye, who is looking at her with a raised eyebrow. “Sorry, but you know it’s true.”

“Soulmates are the best connection two humans can have with one another,” Castiel tries to argue, as if to convince himself. “And it’s my job to bond Dean with his.”

“Cas…” Charlie puts a hand over his, reaching over their coffee mugs on the table. “Why the heck would you still want to do that? Anna told me about Naomi, and Claire’s memories… what is still holding you to this job?”

“Because he doesn’t want to be imprisoned or have his grace removed,” Anna snaps before Castiel can reply. “Don’t be naive, Charlie.”

“Yeah, but if he loves Dean—”

Anna flicks her on the side of the forehead; Charlie cries out an expletive and swats her away. “Don’t be a child, Charlie. He’s an angel. Dean’s a human. It would never work.”

“It  _ would  _ work, you’re just being stubborn about it.”

“I’m sitting right here,” Castiel reminds them. They don’t pay attention to him.

“We’ve talked about this before,” Anna tells Charlie. “Castiel is better off pairing Dean with his soulmate, then returning to Heaven to try to rebuild the bridges he burnt with Naomi. Not everything is an idealistic love story; there’s no guarantee that Dean even returns the depth of Castiel’s feelings, or if this is just a fling of attraction for him.”

_ It only affects me when someone I love goes missing.  _ The words that Dean said the previous night echo through Castiel’s head. He resolutely ignores them.

“I’ve seen Dean in love before,” Charlie says, crossing her arms and frowning. “This is definitely  _ not _ a fling.”

“I think I’m capable of making my own decisions in this matter,” Castiel interrupts, again.

Anna twists in her chair to look at him, eyes narrowed. “Are you sure about that, Castiel? Because, so far, your judgement has always been clouded when it comes to humans you have any emotions for. First Claire, now Dean—”

Castiel interrupts, stiffly, “This is different from what happened with Claire.”

“I know.” Anna nods, eyes softening. “I know that it is. I just don’t want to see you get hurt.” She tilts her head, holding out a hand, imploring. “Castiel, he has a  _ soulmate _ . There isn’t room for you in his life; not as anything more than his friend.”

Castiel averts his gaze to the cold dregs of coffee left on the bottom of his mug. He knows this painfully well.

“Not to mention, the wrath of Naomi if you don’t succeed at this job. She can do far more damage to you than hoard Claire’s memories.”

There is a heavy silence that descends on the room in the wake of Anna’s words. 

“Well, I’m still rooting for them,” Charlie finally pipes up, standing and whisking the mugs from the table to the sink. “Is the tension settled between you and Dean, at least?”

Castiel shakes his head, eyes still downcast.

There’s a minute of solemn silence before Anna lays a hand on Castiel’s arm and says, “Just get this job done, Castiel. Then you can come home.”

At Anna’s words, a different home comes to Castiel’s mind: the one that he’s sitting in right now, with warm lights and a humble bookshelf of classical literature and the lingering smell of a home-cooked meal. A home with a familiar and loved man sitting on a couch, arm draped over the back, laughing buoyantly at the TV screen as he looks over to grin at Castiel. 

It’s more of a home than Heaven ever felt.

“Yes,” Castiel agrees with a nod. “Then I can go home.”

*

“You didn’t have to come over here,” John grumbles from the couch.

Dean rolls his eyes to the ceiling. He scrubs the pan in his hands harder, holding it under the hot stream of water from the sink. “You say that every time, you know.”

“Well, it’s true. I can take care of myself.”

“Yeah, like how you nearly burned the house down trying to make a pizza?” Dean asks, waving the burnt pan in his hand for emphasis.

“Instructions didn’t make any fucking sense.”

“Because you tried to follow them when you were  _ drunk _ , Dad.”

John mutters some expletive under his breath and roots himself further into the armchair in front of the television.

Dean clenches the pan to the point of his knuckles showing white. For not the first time since he arrived, Dean has to keep his temper in check. He has a remarkably short fuse with John today: probably because of the damn kiss with Cas and the whirling emotions associated with it. 

He keeps thinking about Cas and the way that he completely went pliant in his arms. How his lips were way softer than Dean was lead to believe. He can’t stop thinking about how Cas had held his face, so freaking tenderly, how reverently he looked at Dean when they broke away—  

“Okay, dishes are done,” Dean announces loudly, effectively shutting up his own thoughts. He joins John on the couch, wearily sitting his weight down onto the couch cushion. “You didn’t even try to eat that,” he accuses as he points to the barely touched pasta on John’s plate.

“Not hungry,” John says petulantly. He picks up the remote and jams a button, the television screen snapping on.

Dean looks at the technicolor movement in front of them. It’s some fast-paced procedural cop show; John’s favorite genre. After a minute, he hedges, “So, Dad... Mom told me that she’s been trying to get you to go to rehab.”

John grunts in agreement. “She’s always been stubborn until she got her way. Like you.”

“Well. I agree with her. It’s a good idea, you know?”

With an exasperated sigh, John sets the remote down hard onto the arm of the couch. “Son, I’ve tried rehab. The whole nine yards — got a sponsor and everything. It didn’t do shit. Told your mom that, but she doesn’t listen. Also like you.”

“You tried that ten years ago,  _ and _ you didn’t give it a chance.”

“Listen, boy — I wouldn’t have let you come over here if I thought you were going to give me the third degree.” John rises to his feet and stumbles toward the kitchen.

“ _ Let me  _ come over here?” Dean stands, trailing after him. “Dad, I  _ have to _ come over here because you can’t even take care of yourself!”

A few disrupted dishes clatter in the sink as John roughly leans against it. “I’m doing fine.”

“No, you’re not.” He leans against the doorframe, arms crossed. His pulse beats rapidly at the prospect of getting into yet another argument with his dad, but he plunges forward anyway, with confidence that he doesn’t feel. “You know why mom keeps pushing this issue? Because you’re throwing your life away, and she doesn’t want to see that.”

“What does she care?” John scoffs, rummaging around the cupboard — probably for the Jim Bean that Dean hid behind a package of flour a couple of hours ago. “ _ She  _ left  _ me.  _ She doesn’t give a damn what happens to me. She’s just saying this shit out of guilt.”

“No, Dad, she’s not.”  _ Also, you guys split more than twenty years ago, so let it go already, _ Dean doesn’t add.

Finding the dark liquor, John pours it shakily into a previously used tumbler. “Look, Dean. What’s done is done. Nothing anyone can change about it. The best you can do is not make my mistakes.”

Dean frowns.  _ What, become a sorry alcoholic that’s a drain on his family? _ Dean once again doesn’t say. “Your mistakes?”

“Yeah.” John leans against the counter, tipping back his head to wash down the alcohol in one gulp. Dean cringes; it’s starting early. “That soulmate of yours, Lisa. You gotta hold onto her and not let her go, understand? Otherwise, shit’s gonna hit the fan.” He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, shaking his head. “That brother of yours, he’s doing it right—found his soulmate young, got a good job to support her, keeps her happy. But you—“ he wags an accusing finger at Dean, “—you’ve been dragging your feet since you got that tattoo. And you’re a damn fool for it.”

Dean tries to remain neutral, but he can feel his temper rising. “Oh, really?”

“Yes, really. Instead of finding Lisa, you went chasing that goddamn diner boy—“

“He  _ owned  _ the diner,” Dean interrupts. 

“—and completely ignored the happiness that you  _ could  _ have with your soulmate.” John takes a step forward, arms outstretched, tumbler dangling dangerously from his fingers. “And  _ now  _ you’ve decided to make cozy with the fucking cupid that’s assigned to you!”

Dean freezes. How…

“Mary told me,” John supplies scornfully, pouring himself another drink. “Says you’re in love with this—whatever the fuck his name is. She doesn’t think there’s anything wrong with it, but why would she? She’s like you: spits on the concept of soulmates.” 

“Dad.” Dean runs a tense hand down his arm to keep himself calm. “I don’t know what Mom was telling you, but—”

“You’ve always been too stubborn for your own good,” John is continuing to say, completely ignoring Dean, “even when you were a kid. Taking your mom’s side and not even bothering to stop and ask what  _ she  _ did wrong; how  _ she  _ destroyed our family.” John slams his glass hard on the counter. “The one thing you can count on for happiness is your soulmate, Dean, and both you and your mother are too stupid to see that.”

Dean clenches his jaw to stay silent. Best thing to do is let his dad ride out this rant, as usual, and ignore anything he might say.

“And that  _ angel _ ?” John is scoffing, throwing a hand to the ceiling. “What the hell are you thinking, Dean? Choosing  _ that _ over your soulmate? Mary must have raised a son dumb as hell if you think that’s going to work out. He’s an  _ angel _ , the ones that fuck us over and don’t care what happens. You really think he cares about  _ you _ ? He’s just another stupid lackey without a brain, mindlessly following Heaven’s orders.”

Dean doesn’t realize he’s moving until he has his arm against John’s chest, slamming him into the counter. John is staring at him with wide eyes, surprised by Dean’s sudden movement.

“ _ Don’t  _ talk about him that way,” Dean growls into John’s face. “You don’t know him, so don’t you  _ dare  _ talk about him like that.”

John works his jaw as he scowls. “Dean—” 

“No!” Dean pushes him away. “No, I’m not taking your shit anymore. You want to know why I don’t want a soulmate? Why I’ve been against it my whole life? Because I saw what it did to you when Mom left, and I thought: I never want to be fucking tied to a person like that. If that’s what having a soulmate means, then I want fucking none of it.”

John continues to stare at him dumbly, hands clutching the counter.

“And you know what? After I met Lisa, I was ready to start trying. And do you know who made me feel that way?  _ Cas.  _ Do you know who actually took a fucking interest in why I didn’t want to meet my soulmate, unlike you and Sam and anyone else who said I was being insane for not trying?  _ Cas. _ ” 

Dean steps forward, a finger pointed accusingly at John’s face. “And you know what? He took such a fucking interest in me, that we became friends. And it turns out he’s awesome. And did  _ not  _ deserve you punching him in the goddamn face.”

“Dean—“

“No, my turn to talk, Dad!” Dean stretches out his arms, looking around the kitchen—at its dirty walls and unwiped counters. “I’m sick of tiptoeing around you. Mom left you, and that sucks, I get it. But that was twenty years ago. And it’s time to move the fuck on. And you know what? I  _ won’t  _ make your mistakes. Because I found love, Dad, and unlike you I’m not going to sit on my ass about it—I’m going to fight for it, because I’m  _ not  _ you, and I will never  _ be  _ like you!”

John begins to straighten up against the counter, staring, as Dean stands with fists clenched and breath labored. 

“‘Found love’?” John repeats Dean’s words with a scoff, a wave of a hand as he pours himself another drink. “Love is bullshit.”

“I didn’t use—” Dean begins to argue, until it clicks. He blinks. He used the word ‘love’. 

“Don’t know why you were screaming your head off at me when you agreed with me the whole time,” John mutters into his glass.

“Huh?” Dean asks dumbly, mind unable to wrap around the situation.

“You just said it yourself. You ‘found love’ with Lisa.” 

Dean blinks at John. “I wasn’t talking about Lisa.” He pauses, heart inflating as he realizes what that means. “I wasn’t talking about Lisa,” he repeats, as if that’s the most profound thing he’s ever realized. 

Maybe it is.

“I need to go,” Dean says, pushing past John, who shouts that their conversation—argument—is far from done, but Dean ignores him. Stepping outside, he pulls his phone out of his pocket and quickly scrolls to the name he’s looking for. 

He pauses a moment before hitting the call button. His breath is too quick; he tries to catch it. Pushing a hand against his forehead, he closes his eyes to focus. He needs to do this right. 

Letting out a sigh, he jams his thumb onto the call button on the touchscreen. “Lisa,” he says once she’s answered the phone, “can you get dinner with me tonight?”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments are so appreciated!! hope you are all doing well, lovely readers. there will be an update soon :)


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little warning: there's a... less than innocent scene in this chapter? if you don't want to read it, it's after a break about 2/3 through the chapter; don't worry, you won't miss any plot.

Castiel attempts to keep his face neutral when Dean says that he and Lisa are going on a date that night. He tries to keep in check the heart-aching worry that accompanies Dean’s words:

“And when I come back tonight, you and I can talk, maybe?”

It’s not like Castiel hadn’t expected it. What with the tension—sexual or otherwise—that has been lingering between them, Castiel suspected that Dean would be asking him to leave the house. It was Castiel that had suggested it after the kiss, after all—it was only a matter of time.

Castiel waits to get dressed until Dean leaves the house. His grace being virtually nonexistent as it is, he decides to observe (or, labelled more accurately, spy) on Dean the old fashioned and human way.

KNowing that Dean is likely taking Lisa to a formal location, Castiel wears the navy blue sweater that Dean gave him—“Too big for me,” was Dean’s reasoning—and smooths out his jeans the best he can. They’re due for a wash. 

One of the lightbulbs above the bathroom mirror flickers in protest, in danger of going out. Castiel pats his unkempt hair down with water from the sink. He runs a finger roughly over the dark circles under his eyes, as if that will erase them.

He tries not to imagine what Dean must feel: a worn-down, disorganized-looking cupid kissing him, thinking that he can replace Dean’s beautiful and brown-eyed soulmate. Maybe Castiel can convince Dean that the kiss was a result of temporary insanity.

Castiel scoffs at his reflection before flicking off the light. Perhaps not so temporary. 

The restaurant Dean’s picked is a warm Italian bistro with subdued colors. It took Castiel a forty-minute bus ride there, and all the remaining change in his pocket. 

Castiel resolutely ignores the ice cream parlor next to the restaurant. It’s the same place that he and Dean shared a milkshake on its outdoor patio just weeks ago.

Castiel asks to be seated in a darker corner of the restaurant, by the kitchen, where he can listen to Dean and Lisa’s conversation and remain unseen. Despite the fact that his grace is too depleted to shroud him in invisibility, he has enough to enhance his hearing.

He takes his observations notebook out of his jacket pocket; a few loose pages fall from it onto the table. He resolutely stuffs them into the back pocket of his jeans; they’re the notebook pages that Anna intercepted weeks ago, ones with the incriminating confession of Castiel’s affection for Dean. He resolves to burn them in Dean’s fireplace when he gets home.

He focuses on the couple across the restaurant floor: Dean is weighed by his tense shoulders and Lisa is determinedly filling in the silences.

“What are you going to get?” Lisa asks over her menu, smiling pleasantly.

“Pasta,” Dean says vaguely, letting his menu drop to the table.

Castiel can see Lisa’s lips twitch in irritation but she doesn’t drop her smile. “Well, there’s ten different kinds to choose from.”

“Yeah. That’s true.”

Lisa hesitatingly puts her menu onto the table. “You know, when I got your phone call I was pretty surprised. I haven’t heard from you all week. I thought you had forgotten about me.”

“Oh. Uh, yeah, sorry about that. This week was kinda crazy… Cas went missing for a couple of days.”

“Missing?”

“He went back to Heaven.”

She frowns. “Isn’t he an angel? Don’t they kind of do that?”

“Well, yeah, but not Cas; not without telling me anyway. And he just kinda did it without warning and—” Dean stops, waving a hand in the air. “Whatever. It’s all fine now.”

“Oh. That’s good, I guess?”

“Yeah.” 

Castiel can see Lisa shift in her seat uncomfortably. Dean is looking resolutely at his hands, not offering any further conversation. 

Castiel feels Lisa’s pain. Whenever Dean gets in this sort of deflective mood, it’s difficult to be around him. Castiel remembers when Dean came home from a teacher/parent conference and sat in sullen silence for a good hour before finally telling Castiel what was wrong. In that whole hour, Castiel quietly conjured up creative ways to kick the stubbornness out of Dean, attempting to keep a pretense of calm before Dean came to his senses.

Lisa is less patient. She lets out a dramatic sigh and pokes at Dean’s arm. “Okay, Dean, what’s wrong?”

“I need alcohol first,” Dean says quickly, looking around for the waiter.

“Dean.”

He looks at her, face contorted in a conflicted frown; scrubs a hand over his face. “Okay, okay. I know I’ve been an asshole since I picked you up. I’m sorry.”

Lisa’s expression goes soft at his apology, and she puts a hand over his. Castiel bristles. “Tell me what’s wrong,” she coaxes.

Dean pulls his hand away and runs his hands through his hair. “Uh, it’s... You won’t like it.”

Lisa studies him for another moment before her jaw drops. “Oh my god. You’re breaking up with me.”

Castiel stops what he was writing in his notebook, head snapping up to stare. 

“Lis, it’s complicated.”

“I should have seen the signs. Radio silence for the whole week, the random phone call... “ She waves a hand around the restaurant. “Classy restaurant with the fastest service in town so you can duck out quickly afterward.”

“Just—can I say what I want to say?” 

She purses her lips and nods.

Castiel finds that he can’t breathe very well.

Dean rubs the back of his head with a nervous hand. “I know that—uh. I know that you’re my soulmate. And that I was a real asshole about it at first. And, this thing that we’ve been doing, it’s me trying. And it was good. Really good. I like you a lot. You’re awesome. It’s just…” 

“‘It’s not you, it’s me?’” Lisa offers with a wry smile. 

Dean sighs exasperatedly and puts his head in his hands. “This is the shittiest break up I’ve ever attempted,” he mumbles.

Lisa reaches her hand to Dean, patting his arm comfortingly. “Well. You’re doing terribly, yes, but let me help you out.” Once Dean is looking at her, peeking out from between his fingers, she gives him a small smile. “First of all, I’m not mad. I was kind of expecting this.”

“You were?” Dean asks wonderingly. Castiel blinks in surprise. 

“Yeah. You’re great and all, but… there’s just not a spark.” 

Dean nods. “Yeah. That’s exactly it.”

“I don’t know if it’s just because of this whole ‘destined to be together’ thing or whatever. But I’m not feeling it either.”

Castiel feels his heart clench. He can see Naomi’s triumphant look on her face when he returns to Heaven having failed Dean. He should have done something more—something to help Lisa and Dean feel a ‘spark’, whatever the hell that is supposed to mean—maybe he should have— 

“Not to mention that you’re hung up on somebody else,” Lisa adds casually.

Dean almost chokes on his sip of water. “Uh, what?” he coughs out.

“Come on, it’s obvious,” Lisa laughs with a smile. “You’re distracted during our dates; you barely kiss me at the end of the night. I was offended at first but then I realized: you never wanted this, anyway. This whole soulmate thing.”

“But I tried to make it work, because Cas was telling me to. I tried to—”

“Dean.” Lisa holds up a hand, effectively shutting him up. “Let me talk. I told you that my parents  _ aren’t _ soulmates and happily married, right? Ok, well, they both tried to date their soulmates as well, but they didn’t connect with them. Actually, my parents broke up just so they  _ could  _ date their soulmates because they thought it was the right thing to do. But they didn’t connect with their soulmates. They were still in love with each other. I think that’s what’s happening here.”

Dean stutters, “Oh.”

“So, whoever she is—or he, I guess—I hope that things work out between you two.” 

Castiel stands abruptly, knees clattering against the table. He needs to leave. Regroup.

“Dean, don’t get that face,” Castiel hears Lisa say. He quickly gathers his things, shoves them into his pockets. “I’m not mad, okay? This didn’t feel right from the start, and honestly… I think we’re both people that need a little less fate intervening in our lives, and a little more freedom.”

Castiel pushes his chair roughly into the table and resolutely doesn’t listen to the rest of the conversation. He pushes past a waitress, stuttering out an apology when she drops an empty tray, making it fall to the ground in a harsh clatter. 

Castiel thinks that he hears his name, but he continues to walk toward the exit regardless, tumbling out the door and into the chilly night.

The fresh air doesn’t calm him like he thought it would. He turns the corner of the building, props himself by a hand against the brick and attempts to regulate his breathing. 

He doesn’t let himself think about the punishments that Naomi will cook up now that he’s failed his mission. He doesn’t let himself think about what this means now that Dean is unattached.

He doesn’t think about the fact that, despite the consequences he knows are waiting for him in Heaven, joy bubbles in his chest at the fact that Dean admitted to having feelings for someone else—for  _ him. _

“Cas?”

Castiel straightens, wiping his brow with the back of his hand. “Dean.”

“Why the hell are you here?” 

Castiel shakes his head, silent and at a loss of what to say, Dean stares at him strangely, face slowly lighting up in recognition.

“What are you—are you  _ stalking  _ me?”

“Dean—”

“Were you listening in on my conversation? That whole thing?” Dean strides to plant himself firmly in front of him, eyes flashing. “Well?”

Closing his eyes at the rush of shame that bolts through him, Castiel nods. “It’s my job.”

“So you’ve been spying on  _ every  _ date I’ve been on with Lisa?”

“It was my job,” Castiel repeats miserably. 

Dean lets out an exasperated scoff, throwing his arms in the air. “Why didn’t you  _ tell  _ me?”

“It would ruin the observations.”

“The ‘observations?’” Dean repeats back, incredulously. “I was right, all those weeks ago—I really am just some kind of experiment to you, aren’t I?” 

“No, Dean, of course not.” Castiel takes a step forward, hand outstretched toward his friend, although he’s not entirely sure what the intended destination is. “You have to understand, it was orders from Heaven. Part of my job. If it were up to me, your privacy would not have been invaded.” 

Dean narrows his eyes, chewing his bottom lip as he studies Castiel. Finally, he stuffs his hands in his pockets and sighs, the anger deflating from his shoulders. “You’re always gonna be following orders from Heaven, aren't you?”

Castiel doesn’t need to ask him what he means. 

“So.” Dean leans against the building, head tilted toward the ground. “You heard my break up with Lisa, then.”

“Yes. Is she alright?”

“Surprisingly, yes.” Dean grins humorlessly. “Guess she wasn’t that invested in me as a soulmate after all. Put her in a cab and sent her home. She thanked me for being a gentleman about it. Fucking  _ thanked _ me, like I deserved praise for being a dick or something.” Dean scuffs the toe of his shoe into the ground, spraying gravel across the cement. “This whole situation’s fucked.”

Castiel can’t argue with him. He has no idea, even in his wildest imaginations, how to explain this situation to Heaven.

“Just, spying on me, man? And then you go and—” Dean clenches and unclenches his fist, glaring at the ground. “So you heard about… why Lisa and I broke up,” he grits out. It’s not phrased as a question.

Castiel can only nod miserably, staring at the same spot at the ground where Dean is looking. “I heard everything.”

“Jesus.” Dean barks out something between a laugh and a frustrated sigh, pushing himself off the building wall. He paces in nearly a circular, hand running through his hair. “This is great, you know. Peachy. Cherry on top of the fucking cake.”

Castiel hardly sees what desserts have to do with anything, but he simply nods.

“And you know what the best part is?” Dean continues, shaking his finger Castiel. “The best part is that I actually had it in my goddamn head to  _ confess  _ whatever the fuck I’m feeling for you, but no, here you go listening in like you’re a fucking double agent spy or some bullshit—”

Castiel stiffens. Feeling for him?

“—and I wanted to do this right, quit the crap, and here we are again just with this stupid soulmate bullshit screwing everything up as usual, right? Is this really all it’s going to be with you?” Dean asks, arms spread, eyes imploring. “Is this all I am to you? A job to accomplish? Some pathetic and lonely guy to set up with a soulmate and send on his merry way?”

Castiel finds he can’t respond. He has words, so many words, at the tip of his tongue that he wants to say to Dean, but they die just before they pass his lips. 

His silence seems to agitate Dean more. “Cas, answer me,” he says, a noticeable tremble to his voice.

Castiel clears his throat; straightens his coat. He tries to adopt a straighter stance, get a hold on his emotions that are churning in his chest and threatening to overwhelm him.

“No,” Dean growls, stepping forward into Castiel’s space and grabbing him by the front of his jacket. “No, don’t go robotic on me again. This isn’t a few months ago, Cas, when we first met and you were a lackey just doing his job. I’m your  _ friend  _ now. Fucking treat me like one and answer my question.”

“I can’t, Dean,” Castiel says in a strangled voice. 

“Why the hell not?”

Castiel closes his eyes, shaking his head, panic clawing his throat. He feels helplessly torn between his duty, his job, his ‘family’—and this stubborn and beautiful human in front of him. He feels himself at the precipice of a cliff; almost falling over the edge to the rising tide of his emotions, but not quite brave enough to tumble.

“Cas.” When Castiel opens his eyes again, Dean is inches away. “I know that kiss didn’t mean as much to you as it did to me—”  _ Of course it did,  _ Cas’ mind screams,  _ it meant everything,  _ “—and I know that I’m this small and inconsequential human that has these… really fucking inappropriate feelings for you, but I  _ do  _ have feelings for you, Cas.” He releases Castiel’s jacket, standing with his shoulders square. “And even if you never love me back in the same way, I don’t give a shit. I’m going to care about you and be your friend or whatever the hell else you want me to be, because I’ve never felt this way before in my damn life, so I’m fighting for it. You got that?”

Castiel continues to stand silently, although his mind is roaring at him to say something. He feels himself teeter over that metaphorical edge, frightened, but… Something locks into place when the full weight of Dean’s confession sinks in;  _ love.  _ He hasn’t been told that he’s  _ loved  _ before. 

This irrational and stubborn and lovely human—he loves him. The fear he once had of Heaven’s retribution to Castiel failing at this job retreats into the distance. The resistance of holding back his emotions, of not tumbling over the edge and fully experiencing what he feels—it tumbles. All he can see is Dean: standing there, vulnerable yet strong, with devastation growing in his eyes every minute that Castiel is silent. 

Castiel, in that moment, knows he has to take the leap for Dean. Effortlessly, he falls.

Castiel reaches into his back jeans pocket and silently hands Dean the notebook papers—his transparent love confession. 

Dean delicately takes the papers between his fingers, brow furrowed as he reads the page.

Castiel’s heart flutters rapidly when Dean looks up with wide eyes. “When did you write this?”

“Weeks ago,” Castiel admits.

“And…” Dean licks his lips nervously, “...what do you feel now?”

Castiel is scared and his heart is pounding much  too fast to be healthy, but he steps forward and averts his eyes as he confesses, “I didn’t tell you the full reason I stayed away from you those four days after Heaven. Rather, I couldn’t bring myself tell you. I was told by my superior that any chance of getting Claire’s memories is gone; whether I succeeded at this job or not. It was the whole reason I was trying so hard to pair you with Lisa.” Castiel lifts his eyes. “Why I was neglecting my feelings for you.”

He hears Dean take a sharp intake of breath; Castiel boldly steps forward. Dean makes him feel brave. “With no motivation to truly succeed at this job, any walls I built to prevent my feelings for you failed. I couldn’t keep control. I didn’t know if you felt the same way, so I was afraid to go back to you and interfere negatively with what relationship you had established with Lisa. I didn’t know what to do.”

“Cas.” Dean reaches out; his fingers trail hesitatingly in the air, before decidedly and tenderly thumbing a strand of hair from Castiel’s forehead. “Emotions don’t have to be controlled all the time. I can tell you’re always trying to suppress it, man. And I know I’m not the best example of emotional health, but you don’t have to hide what you feel from me. Ever.”

Castiel looks into his sincere and brilliant green eyes and feels his walls crumbling, this time willingly. He knows, in that moment, he’ll never need those walls again. 

“I love you, Dean,” he confesses quietly to the air between them.

Dean blinks, startled, before his face breaks into a sparkling smile. He leans forward and catches Castiel’s lips with his own; entwines his arms around Castiel’s neck. “Wanna go home?” 

Castiel buries his face into Dean’s shoulder; nods.

 

* * *

 

 

Carefully shutting the door behind him, Dean clenches the doorknob tightly for a moment before turning to Cas. “So,” he says with a shaky laugh. 

“So,” Cas agrees, awkwardly standing there with one side of his sweater hanging off his shoulder and hair wild. He must not have brushed it that morning.

The whole drive home, Dean’s whole body had been practically vibrating with excitement. He couldn’t stop smiling over at Cas in the passenger seat; couldn’t wait to get home and finally,  _ finally _ , be with Cas in all the ways he wanted to. But now, standing in the entryway, he’s hesitant and unsure; the complete opposite of the confidence he had in front of the restaurant.

Dean carefully takes off his shoes. Cas does the same. “Did you mean—” Dean begins as he deposits his shoes by the door, “—I mean, were you, uh.” Dean rubs the back of his head, feeling stupidly shy all of a sudden. 

His breath catches in his throat as Cas slowly walks up to him, hand outstretched. He places a palm against Dean’s cheek, who can’t help but let out a pent-up sigh. 

“I meant everything I said,” Cas murmurs, answering Dean’s unasked question, eyes flickering across Dean’s face as if searching for something. “I spent so long pushing down what feelings I had for you; fighting them, all because I thought my success would mean regaining Claire’s memories. Once that possibility was gone…” His thumb makes gentle circles against Dean’s cheekbone, “...there was only you.”

Dean closes his eyes against the onslaught of emotion invading his head. “Only me?” he manages to say on the crest of an exhale.

“Yes.” Cas leans forward; begins to press tender, soft kisses against Dean’s face: his chin, his forehead, his hairline. Dean tilts his head back, giving Cas better access to his neck; he’s never been kissed so softly before. 

“I’ve loved you for days,” Cas whispers into his skin, “weeks. But I followed orders from Heaven; like a robot that you always so fondly call me—“

“Not always fondly, Cas,” Dean tries to joke, suppressing a groan when Cas lightly licks at his clavicle. 

“—until I realized that the emotions I felt for you weren’t going to go away. You’re too bright and beautiful to ignore.”

“Jesus, Cas,” Dean says breathlessly, finally getting with the program and trailing his hands up and down Cas’ sides. “When did you get so poetic?”

“I always think these things; you just never asked.” Cas trails kisses up to Dean’s earlobe and nips lightly. 

“Cas?” 

Cas hums in reply, his fingers trailing across Dean’s waist.

“This whole… sex thing. Angels do that, right? I don’t want to freak you out by overstepping any boundaries.”

Cas stops his ministrations to look up at Dean very seriously. “I’ve had sex before, Dean.”

“Oh.”

“It was a long time ago, but I remember the mechanics of it all.”

Dean purses his lips tightly to prevent laughing straight at Cas’ face. Here was this dorky, gorgeous angel feeling him up so intimately, yet saying things so matter-of-factly. Not for the first time, Dean realizes that Cas is a beautiful dichotomy. 

“In that case,” Dean says with a grin, gripping Cas by the waist and slowly walking him backward toward the bedroom, “I’m capturing you.”

“Capturing me?” Cas asks, letting Dean lead him, a smile ghosting his lips.

“Yup.” Dean leans in to punctuate his word with a kiss, smiling into it as Cas trips over the upturned corner of the hallway rug. “You’ll never escape.”

Cas responds to that challenge by pushing Dean up against the wall, chest pressed against his and mouth hard against Dean’s. Dean responds enthusiastically, pushing into the kiss, breathing Cas’ air greedily. He can’t help but grin when he hears Cas quietly moan.

“You like me kissing you, huh?” 

Cas nods, his breathing stuttering when Dean lightly bites his upper lip. “It’s wonderful,” he says candidly, making something in Dean go all soft and warm. 

Dean wraps his arms around Cas’ waist, hoisting him up and carrying him down the hall, ignoring Cas’ protests that he can walk on his own. Dean plops him on the bed, straddling Cas’ hips and grinning down at him. He’s never fully let himself appreciate Cas like this before: face relaxed as close to a smile as Dean’s seen on him, blue eyes glittering, hair messily smattering his forehead. 

Dean groans and buries his face into Cas’ neck. “You’re gorgeous,” Dean sighs.

His throat vibrates against Dean’s cheek as Cas chuckles. Dean feels Cas’ fingers skitter underneath the hem of Dean’s shirt; Dean’s lips travel back to Cas’ and kiss him ardently as he lets Cas undo the buttons.

Dean tosses it across the room, hearing a button snap off from not being fully released; not giving a shit about it. His heart accelerates when he pulls Cas’ shirt over his head, Cas lifting his arms to aid the process. His body sings when he feels his naked skin against Cas’. 

Cas must feel the same, because he lets out a deep sigh when their chests touch, when Dean begins to kiss him tenderly, both hands holding his face.

“More,” Cas whispers against his lips.

Dean doesn’t need clarification; Cas is already tugging at the button of his jeans. He obediently wiggles out of them. Cas sucks in a breath when he sees the evidence of how turned on Dean is, pressing very insistently against the tight fabric of his boxer briefs.

Dean kisses down Cas’ chest, his stomach, to the waist of his jeans. He flicks a tongue against the skin just under the waistband, making Cas buck up his hips and groan, “ _ Dean”, _ insistently.

“Don’t like being teased, huh?” Dean chuckles as he carefully slides Cas’ jeans down his legs. He runs his hands over the sharp bones of his hips, over the swell of his extremely well-formed ass. Unable to resist it, Dean begins to kiss at the prominent outline of Cas’ length, breathing in his scent.

“Dean,” Cas whispers.

Dean responds with a soft, “God, Cas, you look amazing,” mouthing at the fabric of his boxers. “Wanted this for so long…” 

Cas pulls at his hair, gently. “D-Dean.” 

Dean looks up; Cas’ eyes tell Dean that he’s overwhelmed. Dean crawls over Cas’ body to come face-to-face with him. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?” he asks, ignoring the fact that he’s already resorting to pet names.

“Want to be close to you,” Cas breathes out, grabbing insistently at Dean. 

“Of course, Cas,” Dean murmurs, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “I’m right here.”

He stays close to Cas, letting Cas groan into his mouth as he frees Cas’ length, stroking it tenaciously. He stays close to Cas as he presses slick fingers into him, one by one, asking over and over if he’s okay. He stays close to Cas as he brackets himself over Cas’ hips, staring down in awe at his  beautiful, writhing, and over stimulated body, lining himself up with Cas’ heat. He stays close to Cas as he pushes himself in and out, moaning at how tight and warm he is, kissing Cas reverently as they both collide and finally burst to completion together. 

Once they break apart, Cas is immediately pressing into Dean’s side, breathing heavily into his neck. “Dean,” is all he can seem to say, over and over.

“Cas,” Dean replies, smiling wide like a complete fool, fingers trailing lightly across Cas’ naked and sweat-sheened back. “You okay?”

Cas tilts his head upward to look at Dean; a small, but very present, smile on his face. “Of course I’m okay.”

A laugh bubbles from Dean’s chest; he can’t help it. He kisses Cas, long and passionately. “Good,” he whispers against his lips. 

Cas lays his head contentedly against Dean’s chest, blue eyes fluttering closed. Dean pulls up the bedsheet to cover both of them, smoothing the hair from Cas’ forehead. 

“I never thought that this would be real,” Cas murmurs. 

Dean huffs a laugh, trailing his fingers absentmindedly through Cas’ hair. “Me neither.” 

Blue eyes peek up at him, sparkling despite the dim light of the bedroom. “I’m happy.” 

Somehow, that simple statement makes Dean’s throat close up as he smiles down at Cas. He’s heard Cas say that before, weeks ago, as a lie to appease Dean. He’s never heard it so candidly from him before, and with the evidence so clear on his face. “I’m happy, too,” he manages to whisper. 

They lay there, tracing patterns into each other’s bare skin, until they fall asleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *wildly throws rose petals all over dean and cas' naked bodies* good job, kids, you did the feelings thing


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i edited this on 3 hours of sleep and 4 shots of espresso, please ignore any grammatical errors.
> 
> aaaand try not to hate me at the end of this chapter... *retreats back into the shadows*

Dean wakes to the feeling of sudden cold at his side, his arm instinctively reaching toward warmth that isn't there anymore. Vaguely, he remembers him and Cas falling asleep, curled around each other like cozy quotation marks, with Dean's nose pressed into Cas' hair. Now, Cas' unusually warm body heat has left, and Dean is blinking into the dim dawn light to find him again.

He sees Cas on the edge of the bed, head bent over the phone that he holds in his hands. Dean smiles sleepily at the bare and hard planes of Cas' back, peppered with red marks where Dean's nails dug into his skin just hours earlier. Because of Cas' usually tense frame and stature, Dean had assumed that trying to make love to an angel would be like colliding with a mountain. Instead, Cas was immediately soft and pliant in Dean's arms. He feels a swell in his chest when he remembers Cas' punctuated gasps and uncharacteristically emotional moans.

Dean crawls unsteadily over the mattress to Cas and winds his arms around his sides. Cas immediately tenses at Dean's touch. Dean presses a soft kiss to the side of his head. "Hey," he says softly.

Cas doesn't respond for a moment; simply stares at his phone. "Who’s calling you?" Dean asks, hearing the phone buzz insistently. When he tries to peek over Cas' shoulder, Cas shuts the phone with a snap.

Looking over his shoulder at Dean with impassive eyes, Cas kisses him. "It was nobody."

Dean realizes that Cas has remained tense to his touch, and that the gentle look in Cas' eye from last night has been replaced by something icy. Dean runs a finger gently over the deeply creased frown lines on Cas’ brow. "Cas, what's going on?"

Wordlessly, Cas firmly places the phone onto the nightstand and turns his head to capture Dean's lips again with his. It's less gentle than before, with something urgent buried inside of it.

Dean has the air knocked out of him as Cas suddenly pushes Dean into the bed, straddling his hips, taking Dean's face into his hands and possessively invading his mouth like the world is going to end tomorrow. Last night was gentle exploration, of gentle caresses and sensations that left them both breathless. Now, it’s fierce and desperate and unyielding, with Cas' face looking like he’s going to lose control at any moment.

It feels akin to holding onto the tail of an uncontrollable comet, and all Dean can do is grip tightly and not let go.

Cas kisses Dean's neck hungrily, his teeth skating gently against Dean's skin as he travels down to his chest. "Cas," Dean gasps out, his fingers threading through Cas' dark hair.

Cas' trails his hands up the sides of Dean's bare stomach, making him shiver. He responds, voice hoarse, "Dean," and Dean could hear the layers of complexion and love buried in simply his name.

"Not that I'm not—" Dean stutters out a gasp when Cas' hands brush across the sensitive skin of his lower abdomen, "—enjoying this, but, uh..." He loses all comprehension and his voice when Cas lifts his head, assaulting his vision with those brilliant blue eyes. “What’s going on?” he manages to ask, finally.

"Nothing is 'going on'," Cas says in that deep, rumbling voice.

Dean raises an eyebrow, saying slowly, "O-kay, that's convincing."

Cas frowns at him, but there’s resignation in his eyes. He drops his head to lean on Dean's bare shoulder. "I've been receiving... disrupting text messages," he says on an exhale.

Dean rubs comforting circles into Cas’ back. "From Heaven?" When Cas is silent, he prods, "Is it about Claire? About how you won't get her memories back?"

Cas flops onto the mattress to lay beside Dean, an arm outstretched behind him. His fingers slowly and absentmindedly rearrange Dean's messy hair as he muses, "In a sense, it's about her," he agrees quietly.

Stroking a finger up and down Cas' arm, Dean asks, "Do you want to talk about it?"

"It's not important."

"Well, that's your opinion. And by the way, it's a stupid one."

Dean can feel more than see Cas roll his eyes. "It's not something that you need to concern yourself with," Cas says. "And I don't want to ruin your good mood."

"Nothing can ruin this." Dean tries to cover up those nakedly honest words with a small laugh and an added, "Besides, you're always moody enough for the both of us."

Cas peeks up at Dean, his hair sticking wildly in every direction and his lips pursed into a pout. "I'm not ‘always moody’.”

"Sure, angel." Dean runs a finger through the hairs on the back of Cas' neck. "I'm sorry that this whole thing couldn't work out for you better. That my whole... soulmate thing not working out makes you look like you failed."

"Dean." Cas presses a reassuring kiss on Dean's bare skin. "You did nothing wrong. Heaven hoarding Claire's memories of me is Heaven's doing alone. Even if you and Lisa were married by now, it wouldn't have made a difference."

Dean's face twists into a frown at the thought of not being here with Cas in his arms. "Your angel-family sounds like a bunch of dicks," he mutters.

"I am unable to argue with that statement."

They lay there in silence for a few breaths. Dean's hand continues to make patterns across Cas' back. Cas’s fingers stroke comforting paths through his hair, and Dean feels his eyes slowly droop as he falls back into sleep.

"I can still remember it like it was yesterday," he hears Cas' soft voice say.

Dean snaps awake and stares down at the top of Cas' head. "When did it happen?"

"A few months before I met you."

"And you're referring to the... 'incident' that you've talked about before? The one that made the angels separate you from Claire?"

"Yes." Cas sighs. "Claire was living in Minnesota with her foster family. She had just started her junior year of high school. Her foster parents gave her a car to have more freedom. This unsupervised freedom made her... irresponsible with how she spent her time."

"Never give a teenager a car," Dean agrees with a shake of his head.

Cas continues, "The car wasn’t the problem, but she began spending her time with a boy from her class, and… We argued, before she... I just. I didn't approve of him. He wasn't a good influence for her. When I told her my opinions, she yelled at me, told me that I wasn’t her father,, nor did she want me to be. She told me she wanted nothing more to do with me before storming away in her car. That..." Cas pinches the bridge of his nose and squeezes his eyes shut.

"Cas." Dean lays a hand over his. "You know she didn't mean it, right?"

"I know that; I _knew_ it at the time. It hurt me more than I should have let it. I hadn't felt this depth of love for any of my human charges before; I considered her a daughter, in many ways, as illogical as that was." He turns his head to look at Dean with helpless eyes. "I _should_ have taken it less seriously. If I hadn't let my emotions get the better of me, then all of this wouldn't have happened."

Dean returns his gaze steadily. "What wouldn't have happened, Cas?"

Cas licks his dry lips and closes his eyes. "I was supposed to be watching over her, as I did everyday. I was _supposed_ to make sure that she was safe on her date with that boy, that nothing would happen to her, but instead I stayed behind and let her harsh words affect me, let them make me angry and spiteful. If I hadn't let my emotions control me, then she wouldn't have..."

Dean feels a tremor in Cas' hand that's lying on his chest. That lack of control alarms Dean. He reaches out a hand and cups Cas' cheek, his thumb grazing the corner of Cas' eye.

"She wouldn't have what, Cas?" Dean asks in a careful tone.

Taking a sudden sharp inhale of breath, his hand gripping Dean's wrist hard enough to bruise, Cas continues, "There was a bridge collapse, on one of the major highways. It was over a river. Her car was on the bridge at the time, and she... she went down with it."

"Shit, Cas," Dean whispers.

"I heard her prayers, as her car was slipping on the concrete toward the water. But I didn't fly fast enough. When I got there, her car was already buried in the rubble, among the chaos of hundreds dead.”

"So she's..." Dean fumbles over his words, trying to control the horrified expression on his face. "She died?"

Cas lets out a dry and harsh laugh. "She did; but I saved her. It's the reason why I was demoted, and why I was assigned to you. There's certain things that angels have the ability to do, but never should. More specifically, time travel.”

Dean looks at Cas in disbelief. "You can _time travel_?"

"Sparingly, yes. But in doing so I risked many more lives."

Dean whistles lowly. "No wonder Heaven's pissed at you."

Cas nods; looks up at the ceiling. "I acted rashly, out of emotion. Twice. Not only did I fail to protect Claire when she needed me the most, I broke a cardinal rule and risked the lives of so many others to fix my mistake." Cas offers Dean a sad smile. "I think that I always knew that Naomi would keep me from Claire, in the end. That she would keep her memories of me, no matter what I did to pair you with Lisa. But I foolishly held onto the hope that if I followed the rules, Naomi would change her mind."

Dean wraps an arm around Cas' shoulders, a fierce grip on his arm. "We'll find a way to get those memories back, Cas, okay? I promise."

Cas smiles with his eyes. He brushes a strand of errant hair from Dean's forehead and says, fondly, "You always do try, despite the impossibilities."

"I got you from all that trying, didn't I?" Dean asks with a grin. His expression sobering, he says, "And until she remembers you, we can still visit her, you know. We can go see if she's okay."

Cas' fingers grazing across Dean's forehead suddenly go still. A painful expression twists his face. "Dean, I'm not sure if that's a good idea."

"Why not?"

Cas shakes his head, his eyes focusing to a point beyond Dean's shoulder. "I didn't know her memories of me were taken until I went to check on her after the accident. She answered the door, and her eyes were... blank. Completely void of any recognition of me." Cas averts his eyes to his hands that are clenching the bedsheets tightly. "I'm not sure I can face that again."

"I'm so sorry, Cas," is all Dean can offer. It sounds lame and not enough, given the situation. He pulls Cas closer, his forehead against Cas', their breath mingling together. "I promise, that's not going to happen ever again," Dean says, fiercely. "I won't let you go through that again."

Cas' eyes flicker to the phone on the nightstand, and then back to Dean's. His eyes are swimming with grief. "When Heaven decides a course of action, there isn't anything you can do against it," he whispers.

"I don't care," Dean argues, knowing he's sounding like the small petulant ant of a human that he is. "I'm here for you now Cas, for better or for worse. And Heaven can't fuck with you like that again, not without me fighting tooth and nail to make sure they don't."

Cas stares at him with troubled eyes; his fingers graze Dean's cheek. "If you ever had that look in your eyes... the way that..." Cas presses his lips together and abruptly pulls back, the warmth of his fingertips leaving Dean's skin chilled. "There's nothing that can be changed about it now. Naomi can take her memories, but I don't regret what I did. Keeping Claire safe was worth everything."

Dean shakes his head and huffs out a laugh. At Cas' confused look, he says, "Cas, I can't believe how badass and brave you are. If all that shit happened to me I would be in a straightjacket laughing at the fairies somewhere."

"I doubt you would ever be rendered insane, Dean," Cas says with a small shake of his head. "Besides, through all this trial, I was able to meet you."

Dean blinks at him, then smiles radiantly. "You're right. And that freaking rocks." He leans forward to give Cas a kiss. "Seriously, Cas. It'll be alright. I'm here for you, okay?"

The phone behind them vibrates on the nightstand. Cas doesn’t even flinch at the interruption, his eyes fully locked on Dean's, his hands clutching at Dean's arms like a lifeline. "Okay, Dean." 

 

* * *

 

Castiel soaks in every moment he possibly can with Dean that weekend. He presses into his back and rests his head on Dean’s shoulder while he makes the coffee in the morning. He sits a little too close and rests his knee against Dean's as they eat breakfast together. He lays his head in Dean's lap and memorizes the feeling of Dean's fingers running through his hair as he reads _Anna Karenina_ and Dean watches the news. He leans into Dean's side and smiles fondly as Dean grades his student's worksheets, all the while relaying stories to Castiel about his students that week.

Castiel memorizes, catalogues, and imprints every touch and sensation of Dean into his skin. His lips, his fingers; the way that his body feels curled around Castiel's as they sleep. He sears every smile and sparkle of Dean's eyes to his memory. He endeavours to remember how Dean's hair sticks up errantly to one side in the morning; how smooth and attractive his skin looks dripping with water when he's just gotten out of the shower.

"You're really okay with just staying home the whole weekend?" Dean asks on Saturday night, during one of their 'cuddle sessions' on the couch (as Dean refers to it).

Castiel finds somewhere in himself a relaxed smile, and shares it with Dean. "Perfectly content."

"Okay. ‘Cause, we can go do something, if you want."

Castiel holds Dean tighter. "I'm fine right here." _I want to take every opportunity to remember,_ he doesn't say.

"Hey!" Dean looks down at Castiel, his grin infectiously bright. "Maybe next weekend, we can go to my favorite spot. It's a huge lake that’s forty minutes drive from here; you'd love it."

Castiel heart freezes in his chest. He has to clear his throat around the lump that has formed before he says, "Yes, Dean, we can do that."

"And a picnic, too. We gotta do a picnic on Baby's hood. Sammy and I used to do it all the time, when we went fishing. We can get burgers from that diner you liked a couple weeks back."

Castiel nods mutely, staring at a spot in the wall beyond Dean's shoulder. He feels the outline of his cell phone in the pocket of his jeans, pressing insistently against his hip. "That would be lovely," he says, voice tight.

Dean notices Castiel’s distress and frowns. "You okay?"

"I'm fine. I need to use the restroom." Castiel rises quickly and walks to the hall, knowing that Dean's eyes are on his back, watching him go.

He shuts the door to the bathroom and presses his forehead against the cool wood. Fishing his cell phone out of his jeans pocket, he flips it open and winces at the five new messages he got from Anna in just the last hour. The latest one makes the icy grip on his heart squeeze tighter.

 _They're coming for you in the morning, Castiel,_  the message says. _I can’t give you any more warnings._

 


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *deep sigh*...  
> y'all are gonna hate me

Castiel is sitting at the kitchen table, steaming mug of hot tea between his palms, when the doorbell rings. He jumps in surprise; when he lets go of the mug, there are impressions of his fingerprints left behind in the ceramic; a sign of his grace stirring to life at the potential threat.

He spares a glance down the hallway to Dean's bedroom, the door still ajar. Dean is still in bed, likely in the same position that Castiel left him in: draped across the top of the sheets with one arm dangling over the side, his mouth open as he snores softly. Castiel's eyes flicker to the front door, where he sees the shadows of two figures through the crescent-moon window. 

Dean's words echo in his head: demanding Castiel to never disappear again without warning.

Castiel is turning on his heel, toward Dean, when the doorbell rings twice, with an impatient knock for good measure.

Balling his hands into fists at his sides, Castiel walks to the door and takes a steadying breath before nearly pulling it off its hinges.

"Sam." Castiel blinks in surprise, seeing the lanky and smiling younger Winchester brother in front of him. His eyes flicker to the second figure. "Mary."

"Heya, Cas," Sam greets, a hand withdrawing from his coat pocket to offer him a little wave. He peeks over Castiel's shoulder. "Dean home?"

"He's... still asleep," Castiel manages to stutter out. His heart rate refuses to calm down.

Mary, holding a Tupperware of what appears to be muffins, steps forward. "I was going to ask why Dean hasn't been answering my texts," she says. Her eyes roam across  Castiel's bare chest and his disheveled hair as she slowly grins. "But I think I found my answer."

Castiel works his jaw, trying to find an appropriate reply—he's not sure how much Dean wants his family to know about their fledgling relationship—but Sam saves the situation from any potential awkwardness.

"You said Dean’s still asleep?" he asks Castiel.

"Uh... yes, that’s right."

Sam casts a glance at Mary, grinning mischievously. "Sounds like it's time for a Winchester wake-up call," he declares, side-stepping around Castiel to enter the house and slowly tip-toe down the hall.

Mary responds to Castiel’s questioning look with a sigh, shaking her head with, "You might hear screaming soon. Just ignore it."

Castiel tries to return her smile, knowing that technically this is a “funny moment.” Mary’s expression dissolves, and she looks at him curiously; he looks away, opting to instead stare at his socked feet.

"Castiel." When his eyes flicker to hers in response, she’s smiling warmly and moves to sit on the front porch step, patting the ground next to her. "Let's stay out here until the boys’ brotherly bonding moment is over, huh?”

Nodding cautiously, Castiel plucks Dean's leather coat from the coat rack by the door — it’s first jacket he finds, not something he grabs illogically for sentimental reasons — and stiffly lowers himself to sit next to her. The porch wood is cold under his thin sweatpants, and chill seeps into his socks. He ignores the discomfort.

They sit in silence for a few moments. Mary glances over at him every so often while Castiel keeps his eyes trained on the front yard. He waits for the inevitable.

"Castiel," she says finally, quietly. He looks at her. She smiles. "I take it things with Lisa didn't work out for Dean?"

Shifting uncomfortably, Castiel responds with a neutral, "Their paths seemed to be diverting... different ways."

She raises a skeptical eyebrow. "And his path diverted to you, I take it?"

The sudden warmth of his cheeks counteract the cold air against his skin. He stares at his hands. "Maybe Dean should talk to you about this."

Mary shakes her head, huffing out a sigh. "You angels and being tight-lipped about your personal lives. You don't have to pretend with me, Castiel. I know what Dean's feelings are for you. I’ve known for weeks. I never expected him and Lisa to work out; unless he forced it, that is."

"I wouldn't have let him force anything," Castiel says firmly.

Her eyes soften. "I know you wouldn't have. You took our conversation all those weeks ago very seriously. You obviously care about my son." She rests a hand on his arm, squeezing it reassuringly. The leather of Dean’s jacket creaks under her palm. "It’s because you care about him that I completely approve of whatever relationship you have with him now."

Castiel feels a soaring warmth in his chest at her acceptance, followed by an icy chill piercing under his ribs. Caught between the dichotomy, all he can choke out is, "Thank you. I know that it'll mean a lot to Dean that you approve." He pauses before adding, "Your approval means a great deal to me, as well."

Mary pats his arm before releasing it. "Good. You're part of our family now; so get used to the support. John will take a while to come around, but—" She stops abruptly, eyes wide. "Castiel? What's wrong?"

He can't suppress the shuddering that has suddenly seized his body, or the contortion of his face as he feels pure panic wash through him. He turns away from Mary, shaking his head, pushing his palm against the porch and trying to rise to his feet. "I'm sorry, I'll—I just need to go inside—"

Mary grabs his hand, pulling him to his feet. She takes his arm to steady him, but keeps him firmly in place. "You look awful. Are you sick? Is it something that I said?"

Castiel tries to form words, but can’t. He grips the porch railing hard enough to crack the wood, and shakes his head, eyes trained on the yard in front of them. "It's—" His voice breaks and he looks at her helplessly. "I can't explain, I just..."

Mary's eyes flicker to where Castiel is looking, then back at him again. She slowly places the Tupperware of muffins down onto the porch railing. "You're in trouble," she surmises. Although phrased as a question, it doesn't sound like one.

Castiel nods miserably. "You talk of me being part of your family, and—I'm honored, Mary, but I..." He sighs frustratedly, willing his voice to work. "I would be honored to be part of your family, but I already have one. A family that won't take lightly to me leaving them."

Recognition dawns in her eyes. "When are they coming for you?"

"If my friend Anna is correct, any moment now."

Mary bites her lip and blows out a sharp sigh. "Shit, Cas." She sounds remarkably like Dean in her reaction, and Castiel can see, not for the first time, the striking family resemblance between mother and son. 

"Have you told Dean?" Mary asks.

Shame pooling in his gut, Castiel shakes his head. "I couldn't bring myself to. He was happy… we were happy. I wanted it to last."

"You should have told him, Castiel."

Castiel hangs his head. "I know," he whispers.

Mary shakes his arm, saying, "Hey. None of that self-pitying. You’re at a crossroads, Castiel, do you realize that? Dean made his choice; and now you need to decide whether you will take the same plunge that he did.”

Castiel tries to decipher her meaning. "I don't understand," Castiel says at last.

"Dean was destined to be with a soulmate. But, like me, he made a  _ choice  _ not to be with that soulmate. He cares and loves you enough to make that choice, even though it's socially unacceptable to reject your soulmate, much less be in a relationship with a cupid. He didn't even know if Sam or I would approve — but he took that jump for you anyway. He made his choice. He sacrificed for you. Now you have to decide if you want to do the same."

Castiel holds out his arms helplessly, gesturing to his chest. "I have no grace left. I have no power, at all. If Heaven wants to imprison me, or take my grace and banish me to Earth — I have no choice in the matter."

Mary crosses her arms over her chest, eyes fierce and unyielding. "There is  _ always  _ a choice," she says.

Castiel feels the electricity in her gaze and is struck silent. He lets out the breath he is holding. "I don't know what to do," he whispers helplessly.

Mary puts a hand on his shoulder, her eyes anchoring him. "First of all, you need to tell Dean what the hell is happening. Let him in, Castel. You need to remember that the people who love you want to help you.”

Castiel nods; can’t meet her eyes. She sucks in a breath and says, softly, “You've never had anyone worrying about you before, have you?”

Castiel stays silent and turns away as Mary shakes her head, sighing, “Oh, Castiel.”

Castiel doesn't have a chance to respond; movement across the front lawn catches his attention. Anna appears, striding quickly to the porch, expression fierce. Castiel takes a step back in surprise.

"Why the  _ hell  _ haven't you been answering your phone?" she spits out at him.

"Anna, I—"

"Unless you were in a fucking  _ coma  _ for the last twenty-four hours, you have no excuse!" She grabs his arm with one hand, whacking him over the head with the other. "Do you even _ know _ how pissed off Naomi is? She's on the warpath, Castiel, and at first I thought it would be a simple slap on the wrist, but she has a  _ trial  _ set up, and—"

"A trial?" Mary demands, hands on her hips. "A trial for what?"

Anna looks at her and says, wryly, "For sleeping with a human."

Castiel's breath catches in his throat. How could they know that? He expected Naomi to catch wind of Dean rejecting his soulmate, therefore knowing that Castiel failed his mission — but—

"Naomi’s had angels trailing you this whole time," Anna explains. "She has a whole case against you, and she's not going to simply opt for you to sit in prison for a little while and think about what you've done. She's just... she's gone nuts." Anna pulls at his arm, saying quickly, "So we're going to hide, okay? Just until this blows over, I'm going to—"

Castiel shakes his arm from her grasp. "I'm not going anywhere without telling Dean."

"Are you even listening to what I'm saying? Naomi—"

"I'm ready to face the punishment for what I did," Castiel says with a bravado that he doesn't feel, standing a little straighter, "and I'm going to tell Dean before they take me."

He’s barely turning on his heel when two men materialize in the same place Anna did, hands raised and outstretched.

"Shit," Anna bites out. Mary mutters her own curse, wasting no time in rushing into the house, the front door hanging ajar in her wake. Castiel remains rooted to his spot, forcing himself not to move, although his mind demands that he run into the house, toward Dean.

"Don’t attempt to run, Castiel," one of the angels —  Gavreel, Castiel remembers — says, taking a step forward. "Heaven demands your presence."

Anna steps protectively in front of Castiel, her body shielding his. "Who’s leading this trial?"

"Michael will be overseeing the trial and sentencing," Gavreel replies neutrally.

Anna looks over her shoulder at Castiel; their hopeful expressions meet. Michael has always remained fair in terms of Castiel’s situation; less vengeful than Naomi has been. 

"Can I..." Castiel licks his lips, his voice scratchy. He asks Gavreel, "Can I at least say goodbye to Dean?"

Gavreel's expression hardens. “No. We’re expected at the trial immediately.”

The other angel whistles through the air, landing in front of Anna. He pushes her roughly out of the way and grabs Castiel’s arm, pulling him down the porch steps.

As Castiel is stumbling forward, he throws a desperate look back at Anna. "Tell Dean where I went," he says to her wide and fearful eyes. “Tell Dean—” He can’t bring himself to finish. She nods back at him, her face twisted.

Gavreel takes Castiel's arm, glancing down at him with a raised eyebrow. “Sleeping with the assignment? You've really fallen that far, Castiel?”

Staring at him steadily, Castiel says in return, "If you’re trying to make me feel shame for what I did, it won't work."

"Cas!"

Castiel whips his head to the front door, his heart being tugged toward the voice that has joined the fray. Dean is in the doorframe, struggling against Sam's arms that are holding him back, his eyes wide and wild. "Where the hell are you taking him, you bastards? I'm going to fucking—"

"Dean!" Castiel calls to him, shaking his head. "It's okay. It's alright."

Dean's face crumples. Dean has noticed that Castiel has resigned to his fate; that he won’t resist. This makes Dean struggle harder against Sam. "No, you fucking idiot—" 

Castiel knows that if Dean breaks free, he'll attempt to take on the angels himself. Castiel's stomach twists as he thinks about how that fight will inevitably end.

Ignoring their audience, at the stunned looks that the angels flanking him are shooting his way, ignoring the tears springing to Anna's eyes and the horrified look on Mary's face — ignoring all of them, Castiel says firmly, "Dean. Look at me." 

Dean stops, only for a moment, to look at Castiel with desperate eyes. Castiel returns the gaze, putting as much of his longing and love and compassion for Dean into his expression. "I love you," Castiel tells him firmly, managing to keep his voice steady.

Dean lets out a strangled shout, shaking his head fiercely in denial. "No, Cas— you can't—"

Castiel feels his own eyes sting when he turns to Gavreel and says softly, "Please... let's go."

Gavreel’s eyes flicker to Dean, who is now struggling against Anna’s grasp on his arm, before nodding to the angel on Castiel’s left. They spread their wings.

"Cas, what are you doing? Fight back!” Dean yells. His face flashes from furious to betrayed when Castiel doesn’t move, and he says again, more quiet and pleading, in a voice that Castiel tries not to let break his heart, “Fight them, Cas.”

Castiel keeps his eyes trained on Dean; he can do nothing else. He soaks in every last detail of Dean that he can as he feels wings flap around him and he's jerked upward to Heaven.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please leave a message about your reaction to this chapter after the beep

Dean collapses to his knees as Castiel materializes away, Sam's arms suddenly gone and Anna's firm grip releasing his shoulder. For a moment, all he can do is stare at the spot where Cas was only a second ago, not fully believing what just happened.

Just an hour ago, Cas was kissing him awake, whispering that Dean should keep sleeping, that he was going to get tea. It was just an hour ago that Dean was drowsily kissing him back, promising that he'll join him soon. Only last night, Dean fell asleep with Cas pressed to him, and Dean felt so happy that he didn't feel like anything bad could ever happen in the world ever again.

He can't simply be _ gone _ .

Springing to his feet, he wipes his wet eyes with a cursory swipe of the back of his hand and spins to face Anna, who is standing there with an equally shocked look on her face. "Take me to Heaven," he says firmly, tone brooking no argument.

"Dean—" Sam's hand grips his arm, and Dean roughly shakes him off.

"Take me to Heaven— _ right now _ ," Dean repeats sharply.

Anna finally turns her eyes from where Castiel was taken and looks at him impatiently. "I can't take you to Heaven. For one, no human can enter Heaven without already being dead or, at the very least, close to dying."

Dean spreads his arms, chest exposed. "Great, let's do it."

Mary sighs exasperatedly, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Dean—"

"Even if I could get you there, what would you do?" Anna demands, her arms crossed over her chest. "There's nothing anyone can do now — much less a human."

"Where did they take him?" Sam asks.

"They're holding a trial for his crimes." Her eyes flicker to Dean, almost guiltily. "For inappropriate fraternization with humans."

"For shit's sake," Mary explodes, while Dean just stares at Anna in complete disbelief.

"It was... so you mean this is my fault?" Dean manages to say.

"It would have happened anyway," Anna sighs.

Dean feels his blood simultaneously freeze and boil — if that's even possible. He takes a step forward, his finger jabbing into Anna's face. "Do you mean to tell me that you  _ knew  _ this would happen?"

"I tried to warn him," she says defensively, "but Castiel made his own choice."

Dean spits out, "Made his own—" He grabs her by the arm. It's like gripping a brick wall. "Do you know how he talked about you? Huh? He described you as his  _ only friend.  _ Out of the billions of angels up there, all of his supposed family, he only had one friend:  _ you. _ And man, did he pick wrong.”

Anna's lips twist disapprovingly. "What do you know about being a friend to him? You got him into this mess."

"‘Mess’? Cas’ choices aren't a ‘mess.’ You angels just can't handle the fact that one of you decided to have a fucking  _ heart  _ for once!" Dean roars, shaking her arm. "They demoted him when he saved Claire. And now they're going to punish him because he has  _ feelings _ ? Don't you see how fucked up that is?"

Anna takes a breath, saying, "We have  _ rules _ —"

"Fuck the rules!" Dean releases her arm roughly, taking a step back, arms spread. "You  _ know  _ that Cas isn't a bad person. You know that he's better than any of you angel bastards up there because he actually knows what it's like to feel love and compassion and he's a  _ good person.  _ He could have let Claire die, but he didn’t. He could have just done this cupid assignment and not care about me, not be my friend. But he did, because he is completely incapable of  _ not  _ caring — and you think that means he should be fucking punished?"

Sam rests a hand on Dean's shoulder. "Dean, there's nothing we can do. It's Heaven's politics, man. We can't get involved."

"Bullshit. I'm saving him. That’s what you fucking do for family." He glares at Anna. "You’re his family; or at least that’s what you claim to be. So what are you are going to do? Get over your fucking rules and take me there? Or do I have to get there myself?"

Anna purses her lips, eyes narrowed. "You're a foolish man, Dean Winchester," she says icily. "Don't mistake falling in love with an angel for knowing our ways. Castiel asked me to keep you safe. Don’t dishonor his wishes by running into the crossfires.”

Dean feels a flash of panic as he realizes what she's doing — gearing up, ready to fly —  "No!" he yells, reaching out to grab her arm — but only grabbing air.

He doesn't realize he's punching and fracturing the porch railing until Sam grabs him by the arms again, this time encircling him and holding him tight against his chest. He's muttering  _ something  _ in Dean's ear, something to the effect of telling him to calm down, but how can Dean calm down when the man who read books on his lap with single-minded intensity and took his tea with a scoop of honey and kissed Dean on the forehead in the morning and was the single best person Dean's ever known is  _ gone?  _ Gone without the possibility of ever getting him back, that he'll even be  _ alive _ —

Dean hears someone muttering the same words, over and over, their voice broken and fractured with rage and grief. It takes Mary's arms encircling his shoulders and pressing him tight to her chest, her head resting on his shoulder, to realize that it's  _ him  _ — shuddering and helplessly repeating, over and over, "But I just got him back... I just got him back..."

 

* * *

"So, Castiel," Michael says from the front of the room. He sits behind a large, oak table, his hands clasped in front of him on the tabletop. He lets out an exasperated sigh. "Looks like we've come full circle."

Castiel shifts minutely, the bonds around his wrists digging into his skin uncomfortably. He stares at Michael neutrally and doesn't say a word.

Naomi, from the other end of the table, tilts her head to one side and smiles. "Why suddenly so silent, Castiel? You were vocal enough when you were here last time."

Castiel grits his jaw as her grace causes the shackles on his wrists to tighten painfully. "I have nothing to say at present," he says through clenched teeth.

Uriel, one of the archangels that normally assists with these trials, steeples his hands in front of him and leans forward. "Do you know which charges you're here on account of, Castiel?"

Castiel's eyes flicker to Naomi's; she is smiling triumphantly. "Yes."

"Do you deny any of these charges?"

Castiel has been to these trials before. As usual, an audience of angels line either side of the room, bracketing Castiel, the accused, who stands alone in the middle of the room. The archangels are lined behind the table in the front of the room. The only ones that appeared at this trial are Michael, Uriel, and Raphael. Naomi, the accuser, sits at the far end of the table.

As in most of the trials Castiel has been to in the past, Naomi is often in that position.

“Do you deny any of these charges, Castiel?” Michael repeats the question, forcefully, when Castiel doesn’t respond.

Castiel coughs to clear a lump in his throat. "No. I don't deny any of these charges."

"Great," Raphael sighs from his seat, waving a hand in the air. "Let's assign the punishment and get it over with."

Naomi stands, her hands splayed flat onto the table. "I would like to suggest something, before you begin deliberating the penalties of this crime," she says, a grin in Castiel's direction. "I think that in light of the severity of Castiel's crimes in the past, that the typical punishment for this sort of situation—imprisonment—should be reevaluated."

"To something more severe?" Uriel asks, as Castiel tries to keep the trembling out of his shoulders.

"Yes," Naomi says with a nod. "I move to suggest that not only Castiel be imprisoned, but that the humans he fraternized with be wiped of their memories of him as well."

Castiel tries in vain not to let his knees buckle underneath him. Michael asks, "Which humans would that be?"

"All of the Winchesters, as well as Lisa Braeden and Charlie Bradbury. I know that Castiel was also present at Dean Winchester's place of work; I think that all the children's memories should be wiped as well."

Castiel can feel a cold, hollow feeling work its way into his chest. He can only stare helplessly.

"And what would be the point of all that?" Raphael asks, skeptically raising an eyebrow.

"Because," Naomi spits out, "Castiel is clearly a loose canon. He wreaks havoc wherever he goes. Not only are the humans better off not remembering how he corrupted them, but I move that he be locked away forever so that we never have this problem again."

Michael frowns at Naomi before exchanging a wary glance with Uriel. Castiel knows that Michael is his only hope in this trial. He’s always been the most neutral and fair of the archangels. He genuinely cares about justice. The fact that Naomi is letting her personal feelings get in the way might dissuade him from listening to her. 

Castiel just hopes that Michael’s interest of justice extends to him, despite the unusual amount of sway that Naomi has with the archangels. He already knows the rest of the archangels’ answers: Raphael and Uriel have never been on Castiel’s side, in anything.

Eyes averted to the floor, Castiel swallows around a lump that has formed in his throat. He says quietly, "Why not just kill me?"

All gazes swivel to his. "What was that?" Naomi purrs, voice syrupy sweet.

Castiel raises his chin, narrowing his eyes at her. "I said: why not just kill me, based on my crimes?"

"To think about what you've done, of course," Naomi says with tittering laughter. "If I simply killed you, the message would never sink into that thick skull of yours." She steps forward, hands clasped behind her back. "You see, angels like you are defective, Castiel. There's two ways to solve this: either by dismantling you piece by piece, or simply throwing you back into the fire." She is in front of him now, her triumphant smile inches from his glare. "This is me trying both options at once."

Castiel feels his hands twitch involuntarily toward her. He grits his teeth and wills his muscles to relax, for his weak tendrils of grace to not shoot forward and tightly grip Naomi's throat.

Michael clears his throat, causing Naomi to snap out of her visually emotional display. "So. Vote to pass Naomi's proposition on the punishment?"

Naomi shoots Castiel one last subtle grin, then glides back to her chair, the picture of composure. 

Castiel stares at the ground and at his socked feet. He is aware of Dean's leather jacket still hanging off his frame, keeping him warm. The thought of Dean waking up tomorrow and wondering where his jacket has gone, but not remembering that Castiel is the one who has taken it, or even  _ who  _ Castiel is, is enough to make him want to throw his head back and scream.

Claire's blank eyes swim in his vision. To not be known, or be remembered; to hold onto his love for Dean that will never be returned, or to feel his respect for Mary and his wish to be better friends with Sam — it will be forgotten by all but Castiel, who will slowly rot away in his cell, becoming mad with his one-sided memories.

He turns his head minutely to see Anna, standing in front of the crowd. Although her face is seemingly impassive, her eyes are brimming with sorrow. 

Seeing her, Castiel is reminded of the day Claire died. He remembers the grief, the desperate journey in time to get her back, the horror in Anna's eyes when he told her what he had done. 

He remembers Anna finding him again after Claire’s memories had gone, after months of Castiel wandering the Earth aimlessly, wishing for a black hole to swallow him.

He remembers Anna telling Castiel to be careful when it came to Dean — not because Dean would hurt him, but because Dean had given him hope: the dangerous hope that Castiel could love again, despite that it would all inevitably lead to downfall.

He hears Mary's words as they jolt through him:  _ There is always a choice. _ Words from a woman who defied Heaven herself by rejecting the very idea of a soulmate, to make a bet on her own happiness, despite the repercussions.

Heart beating wildly, he can dimly hear Michael say, “Alright, Castiel, we’ve come to a decision.”

He lifts his head, heart leaping at the chance that Michael could be on his side after all, that—

"The vote to approve Naomi’s proposal is unanimous,” Michael’s voice rings out. His hand flicks in the air, motioning a few angels to come forward. “Bring him to the cells."

Castiel shakes his head, his heart sinking. This can’t be right. He has a  _ choice _ . "No," he says softly, too soft for anyone to hear.

"No," he says again, more strongly this time, face turned up to stare defiantly at Michael. He steps away from the angels advancing on him, shaking his head. " _ No." _

"'No?’" Naomi mocks. "As if you have a choice in this matter, Castiel."

"I do have a choice," he counters, stepping forward. "There is always a choice; I'm making mine. You're done controlling me. You’re done dictating what I do."

Naomi snorts. “This is ridiculous—”

“Do you know that the humans call us a family?” Castiel demands, shaking his arm away from an angel attempting to grab him. “An ‘angel family’; that’s how we’ve been described. In books, in folklore, by the humans even, in the present day. But the term is false; this isn’t a family. Family wouldn’t do this, wouldn’t squash each other down because we dare to have an  _ opinion  _ or  _ feel _ —”

“Castiel!” Michael snaps, his fist coming down onto the table with a whack.

Unfazed, Castiel continues, “And by being with humans, as illogical as they are, I’ve learned what family means — what it’s like to love and support each other, and I’ve realized that it’s better than anything we could even  _ hope  _ to conjure as a family up here.”

Naomi strides the remaining space between Castiel and plants herself in front of him, lip curled in a sneer. “You can complain all you want, Castiel, but you’re still going to prison for the rest of your pathetic life.”

Castiel smiles at her, wild and reckless. He takes a step away from her; holds out his arms that are shackled by the wrists. “I’m not; because I have a choice. There’s always a choice.”

"And what the hell makes you think that?"

Feeling his grace begin to hum beneath his skin, he asks, "How will you dictate an angel if he no longer is one?"

Her eyes dawn in recognition as he yanks at the last of his grace, using it to snap his bonds. She cries out, horrified, enraged. "Stop him!" 

Her shriek is the last thing he hears before he slams his palm on his chest, eyes squeezing shut, and  _ pulls. _

His grace is deeper than he realized. With so little of it left, there isn't much to bring to the surface. The pain is searing and imprints deep into his bones. He feels each agonizing pull of his grace to his palm as he flings it out of his body and into the ether; he can feel his body fighting against this unnatural thing, the act of murdering the very essence of what makes him an angel. He's dimly aware of his body collapsing to the floor, of his mouth open in a silent scream, of frantic footsteps around him as others unsuccessfully try to stop the process.

The last of his grace bleeds out into his hand; he weakly flings it into the air. It dissipates as soon as it has no host to attach itself to. He is painfully aware of his aching,  _ human  _ skin, of his cheek pressed the cold floor and a few errant tears streaming down his cheeks. He wonders if he'll ever be able to move again.

Someone crouches down to his eye level. Naomi's face swims in his distorted vision.

" _ Why _ ?" she growls.

Licking his dry lips, Castiel manages to croak out, "It's a choice." He takes a painful breath. "Someone told me... there's always a choice. I choose to," he winces at a fresh wave of pain through his chest, in the gnawing empty hole where his grace was, "I choose Dean as my family. Not you... as he would put it ... you 'angel bastards.'" He can't help but let out a weak but fond laugh at the thought of Dean; he would be so proud of him in this moment, tilting his head back and laughing defiantly with him.

Naomi spits out, "You'll die. With your grace gone, you'll fall to Earth, and no one will save you from the impact."

Castiel manages to lift his head to snarl, "Better dead than serving you."

With an enraged yell, Naomi slaps him across the face. "Throw him out," she snaps at an angel standing above her.

Castiel vaguely feels himself being picked up and dragged across the ground. He ignores it all: the pain, the fear of dying. He finds he doesn't care. He did this for his family; for Dean. 

For him, it's worth everything.

The angels deposit him onto the floor, his head connects sharply with the tile. He thinks of the future he and Dean would have had. Maybe they'd get a new house, one that doesn't have the ghosts of Benny in it.

Something clangs next to Castiel's head; a door slides open.

The house would have a garden that'd fully bloom in the summer, and gracefully sleep in the winter. Castiel would plant sunflowers; they've always reminded him of Dean.

Castiel feels himself being raised, then pitched forward. This time, he doesn't hit the ground; only air.

Their kitchen would be huge and sunny, for Dean to experiment with all sorts of ingredients and recipes. He would have all the counterspace that he's always complaining about not having.

They could adopt; as many kids as Dean wants.

There would be a window-seat in their bedroom, one where they can both sit in the afternoon sun, legs curled with each other's, and read to their heart's content.

Castiel would wake up to Dean's smile, and lie there at night watching Dean's face slowly relax with sleep at the end of a long day.

The wind is whistling in his ears, and he feels his vision begin to blacken at the edges. He's falling faster, with no grace to slow him down. He feels tears streak his face, only to be quickly swept up by the wind.

He would have told Dean that he loves him, every morning, every moment, every day.

He finally succumbs to the darkness, on the fleeting thought that he wished Dean could hear prayers, so that he could hear Castiel’s.

As he descends, he feels something warm wrap around him, comforting and strong.

Anna's voice, most likely from a dream, is in his ear, saying softly, "I have you, Castiel. Don't worry. I have you."

The world goes dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *beep*


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello, i'm not dead! this is probably the longest this story has gone without an update, sorry guys... real life stuff and friggin WRITERS BLOCK all slammed into me at the same time but! here i am. special thanks to lexi and lindsay who read through this chapter for me and reassured me it wasn't garbage and also gave me wonderfully angsty suggestions

Castiel floats through unconsciousness. There are dimmed lights and amorphous shadows that flicker through his mind, and the feeling of a gaping hole in his chest. He’s not sure if he’s alive or dead.

If he’s dead, then he’s lost and has no idea where he is.

If he’s alive, he’s not sure why his eyes won’t open.

He hears Dean’s voice cutting through the fog. He tries desperately to turn toward it, but he can’t move his head. Instead he hangs onto the voice, onto the only solid thing he knows, like a lifeline among the darkness. 

“Cas? Cas, wake up. You gotta wake up, why aren’t you—”

Anna’s voice, sharp and short, breaks off Dean’s frantic rambling. “Dean. He’s lost his grace. He can’t hear you. He has to heal.”

“Cas? Please, wake up, please…”

Castiel tries to form his lips into the words “I’m fine,” but he seems to have forgotten how to dictate his muscles to move, how to fire synapses and send signals to his body. How do humans do it, without any grace?

“Dean, you have to calm down," says Anna's voice. "The more distressed you are, the more he’s going to try to wake up.” He feels something tangible, finally: Anna lightly putting her hand on his chest—his graceless, empty chest—and in a whisper urging him to go back to sleep. He feels warmth—painful warmth—before falling back into the darkness.

 

* * *

 

Castiel opens his eyes.

The room is unfamiliar. There are bright walls—an assaulting shade of yellow—and there are daisies on the curtains hanging over the dark window. A clock ticks steadily by his ear. He’s unable to move his head, so he stares in front of him, at the huddled shape by the bed.

 _Dean._ He’s sitting slumped in a chair next to Castiel’s prone form, his arms crossed over his chest. He immediately straightens when he meets Castiel’s eyes. The way his face breaks into a smile from his previously wan and exhausted expression is like watching a sunrise; like coming home.

“Cas!” Dean grabs his hand, kisses his forehead, lets out a strangled laugh. “Cas, your eyes are open!”

Castiel manages a smile smile in return. _That would appear to be the case,_ he wants to say. Instead, when he parts his lips, there’s a strangled sound.

Dean’s face twists into panic, carefully blinks the evidence of worry from his face. He snaps his fingers and says, “Oh! Water. You’re probably thirsty, Jesus…”  A glass of water floats in front of Castiel’s face, and it takes a moment to realize that Dean is holding it in front of him, urging him to drink. Stray drops spill over his lips as he drinks clumsily, but Dean doesn’t seem to mind.

Castiel falls back, exhausted by the simple act. He feels frustration roll through his chest but can only begin to close his eyes again. Dean is looking at him, silently, with shoulders tense and hunched but his face still sunny and smiling. It’s a dichotomy that Castiel can’t understand. Reaching out a hand, feeling strain at the simple motion, Castiel brushes his fingers against the dark circles under Dean’s eyes; ones that he doesn’t remember ever being there before.

Dean takes Castiel’s hand in his, smiling unconvincingly. “I’m fine, Cas. Get some rest.”

Making no argument or effort otherwise, Castiel lets his eyelids droop, sleep claiming him.

 

* * *

 

Castiel opens his eyes, and his voice comes deep from his throat as he groans.

Dean and Anna are in the doorframe of the obnoxiously yellow room. They’re talking heatedly, but hush as they hear Castiel’s voice. Dean whirls around and rushes to Castiel’s side, his face floating in Castiel’s vision.

“Cas?” Dean asks, hopefully, his tired face hinting at a smile.

Castiel tries to smile back, but he doesn’t quite remember how. He says, “ _Dean_ ,” but all that comes out is a croak.  

Dean seems to understand; he lets out a happy laugh and takes Castiel’s hand in his (Castiel supposes that it would feel nice, if he could feel it at all). "Your voice works, Cas," he says with a grin. 

Anna appears behind Dean’s shoulder; she asks him, “Do you still not believe that my grace is healing him?”

Dean rolls his eyes, then brushes a strand of hair from Castiel’s face.

Castiel keeps his eyes trained on Dean, knowing that his eyelids are getting heavy and he will sleep again. He wants to soak in every detail of Dean’s face as possible.

“We have to keep him here for another few days, if your mother doesn't mind housing him for a while longer,” Anna says softly. “Tensions are still high in Heaven. We can’t risk Naomi finding him.”

Nodding absently, Dean’s hand remains against Castiel’s face, his thumb stroking against his temple. “You’ll be okay,” he tells him firmly.

Dean’s tired green eyes are the last thing Castiel sees before he slips into unconsciousness.

 

* * *

 

Castiel opens his eyes. He can move his head and feel his hands.

He hears a familiar voice next to him; he turns his gaze and sees Mary beside the bed, her hand on Castiel’s arm.

She smiles brightly at him. “You’re awake.”

Castiel manages to nod. He wants to ask where Dean is. Mary sees the question in his eyes, because she says, “Dean’s finally asleep. I slipped some melatonin into his decaf coffee — don’t tell him.”

Castiel wants to tell her thank you, for taking care of Dean while he can’t, but can only squeeze her hand instead, hoping she receives the message.

“You are so brave, Castiel,” she says, her eyes soft and wondering. “Anna told us everything. The way you stood up to the angels like that... I am so proud of you.”

Castiel wants to tell her that it was her words that inspired him, that gave him the bravery to take the leap — but all he can croak out through dry lips is, “Choice.”

She blinks once, confused. Then her face splits into a sunny smile. “We always have a choice,” she agrees, squeezing his hand tighter.

“Mom.”

Mary's smile fades, and she turns. “Dean? I thought you were—”

Dean sits at the edge of Castiel’s bed, arms crossed and an eyebrow raised. “You thought that my decaf coffee would make me knock out? I’m not dumb, Mom.”

“You need sleep, Dean.” Mary’s eyes flicker to Castiel’s, and her voice lowers. “He’ll get better without you being here all day every day, you know. Let us take care of him, too.”

Dean doesn’t seem to listen; he’s adjusting the blankets at Castiel’s feet, patting the wrinkles down. He looks at Castiel with weary eyes. “Are you warm enough?” he asks.

Castiel licks his dry lips; manages to nod his head. Dean frowns, and goes to the closet to withdraw a quilt, putting it gently over Castiel’s body. Mary stands behind him, watching the scene, lips twisted disapprovingly. Dean sits in the chair and reaches out to smooth over Castiel’s hair, then adjusting the wayward collar of his shirt. Mary sighs and leaves the room. 

Dean’s eyes don’t leave Castiel’s; he doesn't seem to mind that all Castiel can do is stare back and offer no conversation. He begins running his fingers through Castiel’s hair, and Castiel closes his eyes in response to the sudden guilt he feels. He knows that Dean is tired, not sleeping, not taking care of himself; but the only time Castiel feels truly better is when Dean’s at his side.

“Isn’t there some sort of sleeping spell you can knock him out with?” Mary whispers to Anna from the hallway. “He hasn’t slept in forty-eight hours and nothing I’m doing is working.”

“Let his stubbornness drive him into the ground, he’ll sleep then,” Anna mutters back.

“I can hear you guys, you know,” Dean says, his voice staying murmured for Castiel’s benefit but with an edge to it. “Not leaving you for something as useless as sleep,” he tells Castiel in a softer voice, his fingers trailing down to Castiel’s neck and lightly grazing his collarbone.

Castiel opens an eye and frowns at him. He would argue with that statement, if he had a voice to do so.

Continuing to skim his fingers through Castiel's hair, Dean says gently, "If you're bored of just lying there, I can read something to you."

Castiel feels a warmth spark in him that he hasn't felt since he woke up; he nods. He closes his eyes, falling asleep to the gentle lilt of Dean reading  _Anna Karenina._

 

* * *

 

Castiel opens his eyes. The room is dark, but he still can see Dean. His head is tilted back, eyes closed — finally asleep.  

Castiel tries to reach out, but his hand doesn’t understand the motion. He blinks his eyes rapidly, fighting tears. Once again, he can’t move. It's like he hasn't healed at all.

He tries to think harder — _Dean_ — to somehow get his attention. He knows that Dean is asleep, that it’s good he’s asleep—but not being in contact with Dean somehow frightens him. He wants Dean to know that his eyes are open and Castiel _sees_ him.

As an angel with limited grace, he had his moments of feeling useless. But at least then there was a fire burning in him, one that he could feel and use when he needed. Now, his chest his empty, his body can’t move, and Dean won’t open his eyes. Castiel would yell in frustration, if his body would let him.

Instead, he falls asleep, his eyes fluttering shut, while his lips try to form Dean’s name.

 

* * *

 

Castiel doesn’t open his eyes, but he can hear Anna and Charlie by his bed. He can hear the rustle of playing cards and Charlie trying to explain the rules of 'Go Fish'. 

“I hope he can fully wake up soon,” Charlie says at length. “Dean’s still not sleeping.”

“I’m doing what my grace is capable of,” Anna replies, evenly.

“Oh, I know — you’re doing wonders. Two days ago he couldn’t even open his eyes. Do you think that…” Charlie’s voice falters. “Do you think that he’ll be able to function normally? As a human?”

“Physically, he’ll be fully functional. The biggest obstacle will be his mind, having him adjust to being human and not having grace. It’s… not a pleasant transition, I’ve heard.”

Castiel resists the urge to scoff. How Anna puts it is an understatement. He’s felt so small, so practically graceless for weeks, that it feels like that “unpleasant transition” has been taking place for a while.

“Charlie…” Anna pauses, and Castiel can hear her shifting. “Why is Dean so upset? Castiel is clearly recovering, and he’s going to be fine. I don’t understand why he’s still so restless.”

Charlie is silent for a moment. “Do you remember when I got hit by that car while I was biking? In my freshman year of college?"

“Yes, I do.”

“And how I was in the hospital for two days, with no life-threatening injuries, but you stayed next to my bed the whole time and wouldn’t leave?”

“Yes, but that was my job, to see if you were—”

“Anna, quit arguing. It’s love. That’s what you do when you love someone. You worry and fuss over them even when there’s not a lot of logic in it. Now go fish, it’s still your turn.”

Castiel suppresses a smile when he hears Anna mutter, “If you want to discuss logic, let’s talk about how there’s absolutely none in this game…”

 

* * *

 

 

When Castiel wakes up, he can finally move without pain or exhaustion. He props himself onto his elbow, blinking into the morning sunlight rising in the window.

He sees a figure in the doorway; _Dean._ Castiel lets a smile tug the tired muscles in his face, experimentally uses his voice and says Dean’s name.

Dean smiles. “Hi there.”

Castiel experimentally swings his legs over the bed, the rug tickling his feet as they touch the floor. He walks to Dean, fumbling for balance. “I think I’m better, Dean,” he says, voice hoarse but working all the same. “I’m not sure how, but...”

Tilting his head, Dean frowns. “What was wrong with you?”

Castiel frowns. Maybe Dean’s tired. Disoriented. So he says, slowly, “Because of my grace being taken away. It was difficult for my body to function… How long have I been unconscious?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know anything about that. Is there someone you can call?”

Castiel blinks. His world halts. “What?”

Dean carefully extricates his arms from Castiel’s grasp and says politely, with a blank smile and empty eyes, “I don’t think I can help you. What’s your name? I can call someone for you.”

“It’s… I’m Castiel. Cas.” He grabs onto Dean’s arms again, a lifeline as he feels himself tumble into panic.

Dean pulls away again, features twisted into a glare, shaking his head. “I don’t know you,” he says again, firmly. He takes a step backward, into the shadow of the hallway.

 _Don’t go_ , Castiel thinks, unable to speak. He tries to take a step toward him, but his legs are too weak, and he falls against the doorframe. He tries to say Dean’s name; tries to yell after him as he watches his back retreat down the hallway, but he can’t speak, can’t breathe, and his eyelids are heavy, his whole body is heavy, pulling him down…

Castiel opens his eyes and wakes up yelling Dean’s name.

Someone is grabbing his arms, urgently asking what’s wrong. Castiel turns away from the voice, tears prickling his eyes, choking on his own shouts.

“It was just a dream,” he hears someone saying behind him while fingers run through Castiel’s hair. “You’re okay. You’re safe.”

Castiel turns to cautiously look at Dean’s eyes; the bind around his lungs loosen when he sees recognition in them. “Dean,” he says again, hoarsely, voice barely letting forth a sound.

Pushing a sweaty strand of hair from Castiel’s forehead, Dean whispers, “Yeah, it’s me, Cas. I got you, okay? You’re fine. Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

Castiel shakes his head, his mouth opening but only a strangled sound coming forth where his voice is supposed to be.

Dean’s carefully schools his worried frown to neutral and he takes Castiel’s face into his hands. “That’s okay, Cas,” he says firmly. “You’re safe now, okay? Whatever your nightmare was, it’s not true. No one can hurt you anymore. I won’t let them.”

Castiel nods, forcing his eyes closed so that his tears don’t spill. Dean crawls into the bed next to him, pressing close to his side, his arms around Castiel’s waist.

He tries to use his voice again, to tell Dean to sleep, to not worry about him. It only comes out as a murmur against Dean’s chest, not even an intelligible word.

“It’s okay, Cas,” Dean whispers, absentmindedly trailing his fingers across Castiel’s back. “Everything’s okay. I’m okay.”

Although he doesn’t believe him, Castiel lets his newly human body succumb to sleep, giving up trying to speak or keep his eyes open any longer.

 

* * *

 

“Why the hell isn’t he getting better?”

Castiel opens his eyes to Dean’s voice, wincing at the venom he hears in it. He can hear Dean and Anna’s voices beyond the closed bedroom door.

“These things take time,” is Anna’s firm reply. “He took his own grace out, and it wasn’t done properly, so his body needs time to heal — more than most angels that fall.”

“It’s been four days and he still can barely even fucking talk. You call that healing?”

“Dean.” Mary’s voice has joined the conversation. “Anna is doing the best she can, and so is Castiel. You have to give it time.”

“Yeah, well what about Heaven? And Naomi? Don’t we have to worry about those sons of bitches? What if they come back to get Cas, and finish the job? What if—”

“We can go back and forth on this all day,” Anna says sharply, “but what is important right now is me continuing to use my grace to heal Castiel. Your temper and impatience isn’t going to make things better. This isn’t even the hard part of the situation.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“Physically healing him is easy. Mentally, he will need more time. Adjusting to being human. Of having his grace taken away from him like this.”

“Hey, it was his _choice—_ ”

“A choice that was forced on him when he became entangled with _you_ , encouraging him to keep disobeying Heaven,” Anna bites out.

There’s tense silence that follows. Castiel has to swallow a hard lump in his throat. He feels angry tears float in his vision, feelings of helplessness and anger clogging his lungs. Anger at his body, for not being able to go to Dean and tell him that Anna is wrong, that he wasn’t forced into anything. Helplessness in the face of what Dean is inevitably feeling: guilt and self-loathing.

“You’re not wrong about that,” Dean says, and Castiel feels his heart sink when he hears Dean’s self-deprecating laugh, followed by: “It’s not like this is a good trade-in or anything.”

“Dean, I doubt Castiel thinks that,” Mary says, almost chidingly.

Castiel closes his eyes when he hears the front door of the house slam a few minutes later, punctuating Dean’s exit. He suddenly feels very tired.

 

* * *

 

When Castiel opens his eyes again, Anna is beside him, her hand hovering over his chest, a blue light emulating from her hand. Their eyes meet; he frowns at her.

She sighs. “You heard," she says, not asking for clarification.

He deepens his frown, communicating what disapproval he can through his eyes.

Anna withdraws her hand and sits in the chair beside the bed, not meeting Castiel’s gaze. “I won’t pretend I’m not blaming Dean for at least part of this,” she says, “but I know that he didn’t mean to cause trouble for you. He was ignorant to Heaven’s laws and the possible punishment if you continued to make Naomi angry. Something I tried to explain to him, but what you conveniently left out in your conversations with him.”

Castiel rolls his eyes to the ceiling and lets out a long-suffering sigh.

“Fine. Be angry at me.” Anna lays a gentle hand on Castiel’s shoulder. “I won’t verbally blame Dean any longer. Just in my head.”

Castiel raises an eyebrow, as it's the only physical thing he can do to communicate his disbelief. Anna looks down at her hands, weaving her fingers in and out from each other. Castiel recognizes the nervous habit. “I know that I shouldn’t tell you this until you’re feeling stronger, but I think it’ll ease your worries rather than add to them.” Her clear brown eyes meet his. “You made a pretty impacting scene up there, taking out your grace. It inspired a lot of angels… to overthrow, Naomi, actually.”

Castiel’s eyes widen, and he tries to sit up in the bed, his elbows slipping against the sheets. Anna pushes his shoulder back into the mattress. “Don’t worry, no one is hurt. It happened pretty smoothly; Michael shut her down in a flash. She’s behind bars until we can figure out what to do with her.”

Staring at her, Castiel tries to formulate a coherent thought. Naomi, finally pushed into her place, and her prejudice against him and other angels finally noticed and punished for it. For years she’s harassed him, and others… He shakes his head wonderingly. Opening his mouth, he tries to form one word: “Claire?”

Anna’s expression softens. “We couldn’t get her to return Claire’s memories of you. I think they’re destroyed, Castiel.”

With a nod, Castiel lays his head on the pillow. He turns his face away from her.

“You don’t have to be afraid of Heaven anymore, Castiel. You can live your life, with Dean if you want to, without her breathing down your neck.”

 _At what cost?_ , he wants to say, but of course his voice won’t utter the words. All he can do is nod, squeezing his eyes shut.

Anna squeezes his shoulder. “I’ll let you rest.”

He keeps his eyes closed at the loneliness threatening to swallow him whole; at every hope dashed of ever getting Claire back.

 

* * *

 

Dean is a silent, strong presence next to him. Castiel is awake, but chooses not to open his eyes. Instead he lays there, silently, while Dean grips Castiel’s hand with his own, the other rubbing comfortingly up and down his arm.

“I’m sorry,” Dean finally says after countless minutes of silence. “I’m the reason you can’t move, or talk, or function — and now, Anna told me about Claire’s memories and—” Dean takes a deep breath. “I feel so fucking guilty, Cas.”

Castiel opens his eyes. Dean’s own are closed and his head is bowed. The silence soaks the room as Castiel lays there, his eyes fixated on a point beyond Dean’s shoulder, waves of helplessness rising in him once again. He’s graceless, human, and thoroughly useless to everyone. He wonders how many days people have had to shift their schedules for him, for Dean to pace the halls restlessly, unable to sleep, probably missing work because of him.

Tears begin to spill from his eyes—another human physiological response that he can’t control anymore. He turns his face away from Dean’s, but still sees Dean’s face twists into something unreadable. Castiel feels Dean release his hand, hears Dean whispering, “God, Cas, I’m so sorry…”

Castiel feels his eyes beginning to close, against the pain and the emotions and the damn _humanity_ of it all. He doesn’t want to see Dean’s anguish anymore. Doesn’t want to experience his own. He just wants to shut his eyes against the world.

But then turns his head; sees Dean bowing his head, gripping the sheets by Castiel’s hand, his breath hitching. Castiel sees the need for his presence, his words, his voice. He remembers Dean’s words, urging him to fight — and he knows that Dean meant fighting more than just Heaven.

Opening his eyes, and steeling himself, Castiel forces out, _“Dean.”_

Dean raises his head, blinking in surprise. “Cas?”

He moves his hand; it’s less difficult now that he tries; he’s stronger than he previously thought. He firmly takes Dean by the shoulder, pulling him forward.

At Dean’s surprised and soft, “Cas?” Castiel gently puts his lips against Dean’s. He whispers, his first full sentence since his grace was torn out, “If I wake up to you blaming yourself one more time, I will ‘kick your ass’... as you say.”

Dean gapes at him. “You can talk. And you…” His face breaks into a fond smile. “And you swore.”

“I’m human now,” Castiel says, matter-of-factly.

A laugh breaking from him, Dean kisses Castiel again, pushing his forehead into his. “I was afraid you weren’t going to be a nagging pain in my ass ever again,” he says, his sincere tone making the joke slightly miss its mark.

Castiel wraps his arms around Dean’s neck, burying his face into his shoulder. “I’ll never stop being a pain in your ass, Dean,” he says very seriously, unable to keep from smiling when he feels Dean shaking with laughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i can't believe we're almost at the end! just a chapter and an epilogue to go.. all of your comments have meant so much to me. i know i haven't replied to all of you yet, i'm gonna work on that tomorrow, because every single one of you and your words honestly has gotten me through this story and means the world. from the bottom of my heart, thank you, guys. <3


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damn guys, i'm emotional. This is the second to last chapter, but since the epilogue is just a special bonus, for all intents and purposes the plot is done after this chapter. I decided to just post it as quickly as possible so I don't get all sad about this verse ending.
> 
> That being said... there's a sequel in the works. So watch out ;) 
> 
> and enjoy the chapter<3

Castiel is struggling to pull a sweater over his head when he hears a voice from the doorway: “Hey. You’re out of bed.”

He pokes his head through the collar and turns to see Sam, arms crossed and one shoulder propped against the doorframe. Castiel hesitantly returns Sam’s sunny smile. “I thought I would try to walk around,” he explains.

“While Dean’s not here so that he won’t tell you to get right back into bed, right?” Sam asks.

Castiel nods and huffs out a laugh. “I waited until I heard him leave for school.” He pulls the sweater down the rest of his torso, smoothing the fabric against his stomach, which is flatter than he remembers it being. “How did he seem?” 

“Dean? Well, he told me that under no uncertain terms he would rip my head off if I didn’t take care of you,” Sam says, rolling his eyes, “so he seems perfectly fine.”

Walking unsteadily to the bed, Castiel runs a hand over the blue comforter before sitting on the edge of it. He chews his lip. “Dean is... rather protective when people are hurt, isn’t he?”

“That’s an understatement—whenever I would get sick when we were young, he’d fuss over me more than Mom did. And when Dad started going down the drain, with all his drinking…” Sam sighs. “He definitely puts it all on his shoulders.”

Castiel feels an uncomfortable bind around his stomach. “Yes, he does,” he says quietly. He pulls at his hands, feeling inexplicably restless. “Has he been eating? Sleeping? I haven’t been aware enough to check…” Since he’s moved into Dean’s spare bedroom two days ago, he’s been confined to his bed (Dean’s orders), and sleeping for most of it.

Sam waves a hand, saying, “Oh, yeah, don’t worry, Mom brought a huge casserole over last night after you fell asleep and forced him to eat half of it. That made him conk right out on the couch.” Sam gives him a knowing smile. “Other people will take care of him, until you feel better.”

Castiel’s eyes flicker down to his hands as his face heats.  _ How long will that be?  _ he thinks with a grimace. He’s been nothing but a drain on Dean and his family for the past week. And now, even with his physical body getting better, he still feels a pressing darkness in his mind — depression that he’s human, unresolved feelings of anger and anguish over Claire’s memories being destroyed, racking guilt due to the fact that Dean now has to take care of an alcoholic father  _ and  _ a fallen angel… 

The clearing of Sam’s throat makes Castiel break from his moody thoughts and look up to meet the younger Winchester’s eyes. “You’re not a burden on him, you know.”

Castiel blinks. “What do you mean?” he asks, deciding to act like Sam hadn’t just astutely guessed his thoughts.

Pushing a strand of stray hair from his face, Sam says, “If you know Dean, which you obviously do, then you know that he puts other people above himself. Always. To the point where it’s ridiculous and he gets burnt out and ends up attaching himself to unhealthy situations way longer than he should. It’s really easy for people to take advantage of him — sometimes without them even realizing they’re doing it. I’ve seen it in his past romantic relationships, and I’ve seen it with Dad.” He fixes his gaze onto Castiel, and it’s the most authoritative that Castiel’s seen him. “But I’ve never seen it with you.”

Castiel shifts uncomfortably. “I don’t know if that’s true. I’ve been nothing but a drain on him this past week.”

“It’s okay to need Dean’s help,” Sam says with a shrug. “Hell, I need it all the time. He’s the first person I always go to for advice. He  _ likes  _ taking care of people. But he also needs people taking care of him in return. Not taking advantage of how much he gives.” 

Silent, Castiel nods, looking at his feet.

“You don’t do that.” 

Castiel shrugs in reply.

“Cas, I’m serious. I’ve never seen anyone so well-suited for my brother.” Sam clears his throat, saying haltingly, “I… I’ve never really wanted anyone that Dean’s been with before to be part of our family, but… with you I do.” 

Castiel stands, his heart throbbing uncomfortably, and he meets Sam’s hesitant smile. “Thank you, Sam,” he breathes out. “I feel the same about you.”

Stepping forward, Sam claps a hand on Castiel’s shoulder. “You’re not a drain on Dean, Cas, I promise. Ask him yourself. Seriously.” 

Castiel considers the threads of brown carpet under his feet, chewing his lip in thought. He asks, “Sam, would you drive me somewhere?”

 

* * *

Dean’s shoes echo loudly against the tiles of the wide hallway as he walks toward his classroom. Despite not having been in the building for a week, not much has changed: same artwork on the walls, same janitor waving at him as he walked through the school’s double doors, same circumstance of him getting there earlier than the rest of the teachers. 

What has changed is the absence of Cas next to him, following in time with his steps. In the past, he would have to stop every time Cas wanted to admire some kid’s artwork outside a classroom, and Dean would roll his eyes with fake irritation — all the while feeling a warmth in his chest that he always ignored. Sometimes, it would take a full ten minutes to finally get Cas to Dean’s classroom.

Now, it takes him less than a minute to walk past all the doors and make it to his own — way too early and way too quickly.

Dean empties his bag onto his desk.  _ Anna Karenina  _ hitches a ride on his schedule book; Dean picks it up and feels a binding feeling in his stomach. Dean remembers reading this book to Cas while he lay practically catatonic on the bed, the only indication that he was even alive being his chest rising and falling in steady breaths, or his fingers weakly gripping Dean’s own, as a lifeline. He remembers the days that all Cas could do was stare at him through half-lidded eyes, practically blank with exhaustion. 

Shoving the book into the depths of the bag, Dean shakes his head to clear it.  _ Cas is better now,  _ he says to himself.  _ He’s not walking yet, or eating much, sure; but he’s better.  _

He tries to distract himself by organizing the assignments of the day. Pen in one hand, coffee half-raised to his lips in the other as he does his best to concentrate on the blurry words in front of him. 

If Cas were here, he would somehow squeeze into one of those little chairs, the ones connected to the desk that the kids sat in, and silently sit, waiting for Dean to be done with his work. Eventually he would get bored and investigate Dean’s bookshelf for the thousandth time since Cas first stepped into the classroom — all the while asking the occasional question about the aspect of a certain plot or “How did Huckleberry Finn convince all those boys into painting the fence, Dean? Clearly it was trick.” 

Dean blinks hard at the papers in front of him, refocusing himself back to the present. He releases his death grip on his pen, carefully setting it on the desk. That something in his chest clenches harder as he wonders if things will ever be the same again.

Cas has been telling him, over and over, that it was his “choice” to tear his grace out — but what sort of choice is that, when the other option was imprisonment and probably death? 

“I’m not upset by these circumstances,” Cas has been telling him almost every day since he could talk again, but it’s hard to believe him when there are those dark circles under his eyes and his skin is pale and he can barely keep solid food down.

Dean covers his face with his hands. He can’t conceive a reality where this would be worth it to Cas; this humanity, being stuck with Dean until the end of his mortal life, being confined to a box like this… He doesn’t know how to be worth it to Cas, in light of all that.

Dean nearly jumps out of his skin when there’s a sudden rapid knocking at the door. He sees Charlie’s face through the small window, her hair flying as she bounces up and down, waving at him to come outside. He groans and looks at the ceiling for patience; he’s not ready for her perky attitude at seven in the freaking morning.

“You have to promise not to freak out,” she blurts as he opens the door.

“Why would I freak out?” He reaches out and pokes at one of her strangely shaped earrings. “And really?  _ Enterprise  _ earrings? Those look like they weigh five pounds.”

“Yeah, they’re the most painful things in the world, but you do what you can for fashion, amirite? Wait but okay  _ listen,”  _ Charlie says in a rush, “you have to give me your promise that in the next thirty seconds you can’t get mad or freak out or make him go home.”

Dean pinches the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache coming on. “Make  _ who  _ go home? You’re not making any—” He stops and blinks in surprise when a familiar figure steps from behind the corner. Dean’s mind halts and takes a second to reboot. “Cas?”

Cas, the sneaky bastard, shifts from one foot the other and gives him a hesitant smile. “Hello, Dean.” 

Charlie raises her hands when Dean opens his mouth to ask what the  _ hell  _ he is doing out of bed. “Don’t freak out!” she cries.

“I’m not going to  _ freak out _ ,” Dean snaps, taking Cas by the arm and leading him to the chair behind his desk. “You should be resting, Cas, what are you thinking? You were sleeping when I left you this morning. And since when the hell could you walk?”

Cas looks up at him innocently. The bags under his eyes are still there, but there’s more color in his cheeks. “I wanted to surprise you. Sam drove me here.” 

Of course. Sam  _ would _ be the one complicit in trying to give Dean a heart attack. “Cas, you should go home and rest. Anna said that it’ll take at least another week for you to be at a hundred percent.” 

Charlie walks over to them, waving a hand in the air, saying, “Cas is fine — look at him! It’s the best he’s looked in days. Stop being a mother hen, Dean, it’s starting to get annoying.” 

Cas quirks a small grin at Charlie, who winks back at him. In that moment, Dean knows that anything he says will fall on completely deaf ears.

“All right, all right,” Dean grumbles, throwing his hands in the air. “You win. Cas can stay.” He jabs a finger in Charlie’s direction. “But  _ you’re  _ watching him and making sure he eats a huge lunch while I take the kids out to recess.” 

“Yeah, sure, fine!” Charlie singsongs as she skips out of the classroom. “Have fun, you two!”

Dean shuts the door firmly behind Charlie’s exit. He closes his eyes and takes a steadying breath before addressing Cas, who is sitting in the chair, hands in his lap, looking uncomfortably small. Dean shakes his head and can’t help but grin at his stubborn friend. “Hey, Cas,” he says, more gently this time.

Cas’ smile is the brightest Dean’s seen since he’s fallen.  “Hello, Dean.” He reaches out and lightly circles his fingers around Dean’s wrist. “I’m sorry for causing you stress. It wasn’t my intention.”

Rolling his eyes fondly, Dean sits at the edge of the desk and takes Castiel’s hand in his, weaving their fingers together. “You always say that, and yet you do the things that you  _ know  _ will cause me stress, anyway.”

Cas lifts their joined hands to his lips, kissing the palm of Dean’s hand softly, looking up at him with innocent eyes. “I simply wanted to show you that I’m adjusting as a human; that things can go back to normal.”

Dean feels the tight coil of stress in his chest slowly unwind. With Cas sitting here, fully functional and looking almost as healthy and stubborn as the day that Dean first met him, he doesn’t feel the full weight of Cas’ health on his shoulders. For the first time since Cas fell from Heaven, he really believes that things may just go back to ‘normal’; that he and Cas can be okay. 

Despite the fact that the first bell is soon to ring, bringing with it the arrival of his students, Dean leans down, resting his hand on the back of Cas’ head, to bring their lips together. He tangles his fingers in Cas’ smooth hair as their kiss deepens; he feels Cas’ hands trail up Dean’s sides, causing shivers to cascade across Dean’s skin. 

“How much better are you feeling?” Dean murmurs between their increasingly passionate kisses.

“Getting better by the second,” Cas responds, gasping softly when Dean pulls him up by his arms, holding him tightly to his chest. “Why do you ask?”

Dean pulls away, only to kiss down the side of Cas’ neck and breathe into his ear, “Because I want to take you on this desk, right now.”

The words have its desired effect: Cas gapes at Dean as his pupils dilate, trapped between aroused and horrified. “But Dean, the children,” he gasps, and that’s all he can say before Dean bursts out into delighted laughter. 

Dean hugs him closer, warmth blooming in his chest when he sees Cas’ little half-smile in response to his laughter, thinking,  _ Yeah, things can definitely be normal again. _

When the kids pile into the classroom a few minutes later (luckily after Dean and Cas have composed themselves), all hope for order in the classroom goes out the window when the kids freak out over seeing Cas. In response, Cas completely basks in it, and doesn’t even let on how exhausting it is when the kids all group around him, trying to climb onto him and hug him and chiming that they’re happy to see him. Cas looks the happiest he’s been in weeks, with bright eyes and an actual honest-to-God  _ smile  _ on his face. It makes Dean wonder if Cas doesn’t mind being human, and isn’t upset at the circumstances, after all.

Cas’ presence causes the class to be loud and chaotic and Dean doesn’t fully restore order until lunchtime, especially since the kids keep looking back at Cas and giggling things at him. Of course, Cas doesn’t help either, leaning toward them and smiling back with that gummy grin of his. 

Dean tries not to be distracted himself, he really does; but seeing Cas in the back of the classroom, like a fixture of his life that’s always been there and always  _ needs  _ to be there, Dean can’t help but break into spontaneous smiles for the whole day. It feels like Cas will be okay; that he was never hurt. 

At the end of the day, Cas is slow to get up out of his chair and his eyes are a little duller than they were that morning. He doesn’t argue when Dean puts an arm on his, letting him lean against him as they walk down the school’s hallway. Dean patiently waits as Cas pauses to brush a finger over a student’s oil painting, hanging up in front of Charlie’s classroom, smiling softly. Dean watches as Cas’ finger trails across the green leaves of a clumsily painted tree, feeling a telltale burn in the back of his eyes. 

“Let’s go, Cas,” he says, putting his arm around his waist and pulling him close. 

They’re in the car and Dean’s starting the engine when Cas admits, “I don’t want to go back to the house.”

Dean drums his fingers against the steering wheel. “Why not?”

Cas shrugs one shoulder, turning his face to look out the window, his gaze on the wilted garden next to the school building. “This is my first experience in the outdoors as a human. I’m realizing I don’t want it to end.”

An idea sparks in Dean’s mind. Grinning, he puts a hand on Cas’ knee, winking. “I know just where to take you.”

Cas narrows his eyes at Dean, but there’s a grin dancing on his lips. “Is this what’s classified as a surprise?”

“Yeah, Cas. It’s a surprise. Just hush and enjoy the ride.” Dean cranks the driver’s window down as he pulls out of the school’s parking lot; Cas does the same. The cool wind flutters through their hair, and Dean puts his hand on Cas’ knee, thumb absentmindedly pressing circles into his thigh.

“Sam told me this morning that John is going to rehab,” Cas says after a few moment’s silence of them enjoying the drive.

“Gee, Cas, nice and light conversation topic, huh?” 

Cas rolls his eyes. “I’m simply trying to catch up on the events of your life since I’ve been practically catatonic for a week.”

Dean shifts in his seat, taking a left-hand turn to merge onto a county highway. “Well, Mom finally convinced him, I guess. It’s for the best. Now maybe I won’t have to go over there and do his laundry anymore.”

“It’ll free up your time, and your life,” Cas agrees. “You talked about feeling stuck, before. This will help you not to be.”

Dean shrugs. “I guess. But it’s not like we can just up and move anytime soon.”

Cas looks at him, eyes glinting in the low-hanging sun, and he asks, “We?”

“Yeah, dumbass, we.” Dean pauses, giving Cas a side-glance. “Unless… you don’t want that.”

Cas is silent for a moment, simply looking at him; it makes Dean’s chest clench, until he says, “Why would I want anything else?”

Dean nearly veers off the road at the sheer power in that single sentence. “Those punchy one-liners didn’t go away with you becoming human, did it?” Dean asks, shaking his head and huffing out a laugh.

“I’m just telling the truth.”

“Yeah, Cas, I know.” Dean grins at him. “Don’t ever stop doing that.” 

Cas smiles in return before turning his gaze out the passenger window. They sit in companionable silence until they turn into Dean’s destination. He keeps sneaking glances at Cas as they drive down the dirt road canopied by thick oak trees, his smile getting wider as Cas’ eyes get bigger in wonderment. When they finally reach the end of the road, he turns off the engine and watches Cas lean against the dashboard, mouth slightly agape. 

They are sitting at the edge of a lake spread out expansive and blue before them. The sunlight is glinting off the surface of the water, making it sparkle. Bare trees, aspen and birch and oak, line the borders of the lake along on a thin strip of untouched white snow.

Cas looks at Dean questioningly. Dean is looking out at the lake, at the sun framed warmly in the tree's’ branches, the wrinkles on the corners of his eyes scrunched in a smile.

“This was me and Sam’s favorite place when we were little,” he says. “Before things got bad with him, Dad used to take us here to go fishing, hiking… anything to get away from the city.” Dean leans into his chair, sighing contentedly. “It’s never failed to make me feel better.” He reaches over to Cas’ shoulder, absentmindedly rubbing a hand up and down his back. “I’ve wanted to take you here for a while. I… I was kinda worried I was never going to.” 

An inscrutable expression passes over Cas’ face and he moves to bury his face into Dean’s neck, his arms wrapping around him. Dean closes his eyes and rests his cheek against Cas’ hair.

“Think you’re up to walking around a bit?” Dean murmurs after a few moments, laying a hand on Cas’ shoulder. At Cas’ nod, Dean kisses the top of his head and opens the car door. When he leaves, an icy breeze enters the car in his wake.

They walk side-by-side along the lake’s border, through the weaving trees and dead, dry plants. Dean feels his lungs expand from the chilled but fresh air, chasing the week’s dark feelings in his chest away. He puts an arm around Cas’ shoulders, pressing him into Dean’s side as they walk.

“I can see why you like this place so much,” Cas says, softly, so that the silence isn’t disturbed. “It’s very peaceful.” 

Dean nods. He frowns at their feet as they walk, making sure that Cas doesn’t trip over roots in their path. He feels a question press at his mind; the one that’s been prodding at him since Cas lost his grace. 

Cas notices his silence, and pokes a gentle finger into Dean’s side. “What’s wrong, Dean?”

He shakes his head, pasting on his best fake smile. “Nothin’, Cas.”

Cas quirks a disbelieving eyebrow. “That’s not true.”

They stop in front of a birch tree; Cas leans against it and tries  to hide how out of breath he is. He looks at Dean steadily. “You’ve seemed worried all day, even with my physical issues being better. So I can only conclude that you’re worried about something else.” 

Dean crosses his arms over his chest, leaning against an opposite tree, a smile quirking up his lips. “Even as a human, you’re going to hit me with the logic stick, huh?”

“Me being human hasn’t changed my personality, Dean. In fact, after my week of adjusting to my body, it’s changed virtually nothing.”

Dean’s eyes flicker away from Cas’, and he feels that familiar tug in his chest and that familiar burn in his stomach. “ _ That’s _ not true,” he mutters.

Cas looks at him, head tilted, a puzzled frown on his face. “I don’t understand why you’re upset.”

Clenching his fists, Dean glares at the leaves under their feet. “Anna says that you pulled out your grace yourself.” 

“Yes, that’s correct.”

“Why did you do it?”

Cas blinks. He says, “Because I didn’t want Heaven to control me anymore. I was faced with a decision of imprisonment, or being human. I chose the latter.”

“That’s just it, though.” Dean can feel his nails digging into his palms as he grits out, “Anna was right when she said that you didn’t have any other choice. You took out your grace, sure, but it was because you were backed into a corner. And now—” Dean closes his eyes and huffs out a sigh. “It’s just, you got a really shitty end of the deal.”

When he opens his eyes again, it’s to Cas standing with a strange frown on his face, his body utterly still. Dean shifts from foot to foot uncomfortably, regretting saying anything at all. “Listen, it’s cold,” Dean ventures, when the silence becomes unbearable, and Cas still hasn’t moved. “Maybe we should just go home, get you warm.”

Cas blinks. Suddenly moves forward, and grabs Dean’s arm. Whirling him around, he points to the lake; to the other side of the shore, miles away. “Do you see those houses?” he asks.

Dean squints; he sees a few in the distance, large and shrouded by trees. “Uh, yeah, but—”

Cas cuts him off with a raised hand and a shake of his head. “What do you think of them?”

“They’re, uh, nice? Big. Lots of room, probably.”

Cas nods, shoving his hands into his jean pockets, looking out to the lake. The sun is beginning to set; it’s framing his face, making the lines of his profile glow in a warm hue. “I want us to live in a house like that,” he murmurs, making Dean’s heart seize. “A large kitchen for you to cook in. A garden expansive enough to grow all the food or flowers we want. I think we’d be happy in a house like that.” 

Dean stares at him dumbly, not sure what to say.

Cas finally looks at him; his eyes are sad. “Dean, do you know what I thought as I was falling? After I had removed my grace?” At the shake of Dean’s head, he says, “I was regretting that we didn’t have more time. In what I thought was my final moments, I didn’t regret my actions. I didn’t regret meeting you, which led to me becoming human. I didn’t regret failing to set you up with Lisa, and rather claiming you instead.” He reaches out and brushes a finger across Dean’s cheek with a wistful smile on his face. “I was deeply sad that we had no chance to live the life we wanted.” Encircling his arms around Dean’s waist, he presses his chest against Dean’s. He rests his chin on Dean’s shoulder, his warm breath tickling his ear. “When I first met you, I think what I admired most, and still do, is your tenaciousness to be able to decide things for yourself. You didn’t want a soulmate forced on you; you didn’t want an angel meddling in your affairs and deciding your life for you.” Cas presses a kiss against Dean’s neck before saying, “You inspired me to make my own decisions. Not be under Heaven’s thumb anymore. You taught me that it’s alright to embrace my wants, and my desires; in this case, you.” 

Dean swallows a hard lump that has been forming in his throat. He doesn’t speak, because it’s probably going to come out as an embarrassing choke. Instead, he buries his face into Cas’ neck and grips him tightly.

“I chose you, Dean,” Castiel says, voice tight. “I chose you as my family.” He rests his head against Dean’s, grips the back of Dean’s jacket, and murmurs, “And I never want to let you go.”

Dean pulls back, taking Cas’ face between his hands, kissing him on his cheeks, against his lips. “I don’t want that, either,” he says, pressing their foreheads together.

“Then  _ please _ ,” Cas says, his hands coming up to entwine with Dean’s, resting them between their faces, “stop suggesting that I ever want to be anywhere else but with you.” His eyes flicker away. “But, I also don’t want you to feel like I’m forcing you. I know you’ve been taking care of me, and I don’t want you to feel trapped simply because—”

Dean stops this ridiculous line of thinking with a hard press of his lips to Cas’. “Don’t for one second think you’re a burden,” he demands, quietly and urgently. “You’re not, Cas. I can’t…” He has to take a breath, steel himself for this next part, at the emotions rising in him. “I can’t imagine my life without you.” 

Face melting into a smile, Cas rests his cheek against Dean’s, pressing soft kisses into his skin. “I needed to hear that,” he admits.

Dean’s fingers curl around the nape of Cas’ neck. “You chose me,” he repeats, wonderingly, still overwhelmed and confused by the feeling swallowed by Cas’ big blue eyes as he searches his face for any lie, any trick, but finding none. 

Cas nods. Smiles one of his half-smiles, kissing Dean softly on the cheek. “I chose you; and I will continue to do so, every day.”

Dean feels like his smile is going to break his face in half. He replies softly, “Me too,” and he takes Castiel’s hand in his. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and that, guys, is the end.
> 
> I can't even do thank-yous yet, I gotta do that in the epilogue, i'm gonna get too emotional about you guys i just love you all so much and i will miss your comments every week and ahhh i can't think about it too much *blows nose* anyway please leave a comment if you feel like it and just have a great day guys <33


	20. Epilogue

Claire hauls a particularly heavy box over her head, making the table shudder when she deposits it onto the top. She wipes a hand across her sweaty forehead and looks up to the sky for patience. She can’t remember why she signed up for this damn fundraiser in the first place.

 

_Because you have no money for college, dumbass,_ she reminds herself. She sighs, taking the face paints out of the box and setting them on the table.

 

The fundraiser is a school-wide effort to raise money for scholarships. Based on her begrudging involvement in Key Club (the organization hosting the damn fundraiser in the first place) and her consistently good grades, she’s hoping that she has at least a small chance of getting one of them. It’s that small chance that makes her not complain about doing this face-painting booth in the first place.

 

She’s sitting down, grumbling under her breath and arranging her paints across the table, when two men across the yard catch her eye. Since it’s earlier in the morning and not many people have come to the park yet, it’s easy to spot the couple. They’re standing still against the moving crowd; one of them is tan and freckled, and has a little girl no more than three years old in his arms, propped onto his hip. His head is bent close to the dark-haired man’s, whispering to him as the dark-haired man’s eyes keep flickering toward Claire’s booth.

 

They stand there for a good few minutes. Claire has to admit it’s a little uncomfortable. Especially with the dark-haired man looking at her like he knows her, or something. But then a group of screaming preteens bound up to the table, demanding that they get matching flowers on their faces, and she quickly gets distracted.

 

She doesn’t even think about them again until they are suddenly at the table, standing there with awkward stances. Claire looks up at them and frowns into the sun. “Hi,” she offers, when they haven’t said anything.

 

Something seems to shift in the tan man’s green eyes, and his face blooms into a smile. “Hey there,” he replies, giving a wave. “Lacy here would like a tattoo,” he says, grinning down at the girl and giving her a little bounce.

 

The little girl, Lacy, looks up at him, eyes wide and horrified. “But Mommy says she hates tattoos,” she whispers, covering her mouth with her hands.

 

“It’s not a forever tattoo,” Claire quickly assures her. “It’s just paint.”

 

The man shoots his conspiring grin at Claire. “Well, you ruined the secret,” he jokes with a wink. Addressing the girl, he continues, “Lacy, your Mom won’t get mad, I promise. We’ll get you a pretty flower, okay? And we’ll make Cas here get a bumblebee,” he adds, hooking a thumb over his shoulder at the dark-haired man next to him. To this, Lacy giggles wildly. The dark-haired man offers her a small smile in return.

 

Claire pats the chair next to her, eyebrows raised expectantly. “Well, who’s going first?”

 

“I want to see Cassie do it,” Lacy says. She buries her face shyly into the tan man’s shoulder, who grins at Cas and shrugs.

 

Claire gives Cas a very serious look as he sits down. “You really okay with a bumblebee?”

 

He clears his throat before saying, in a scratchy and deep voice, “I don’t think I have much of a choice,” with a side-look at Lacy and the man holding her.

 

“On his cheek!” Lacy cries out, clapping her hands.

 

“Yeah, or on his whole face,” the green-eyed man adds in gleefully.

 

Cas glares at him, but it doesn’t hold much anger. “Dean,” he sighs. The man, Dean, winks back at him.

 

“I won’t paint your whole face,” Claire tells Cas very seriously.

 

He looks back at her with a straight face, but there’s a sparkling quality in his blue eyes. “Thank you,” he replies.

 

Claire turns to the table, to mix some yellow paint. She hears Dean ask behind her, “So, has it been busy today?”

 

“Not really,” she shrugs, dipping her brush into the paint. “You guys are kind of the early crowd. We just finished setting up a couple of hours ago.” She turns to Cas, her paintbrush poised in the air. “Turn your cheek, okay?”

 

Cas willingly turns his face, giving Dean an unreadable look. Claire sees Dean stare at him back, something in his face softening.

“Lacy, want to go look at the balloons while Cas gets his face painted?” Dean asks the girl. At her nod, Dean says goodbye with a wink in Cas’ direction, disappearing into the crowd.

 

“Cute kid,” Claire offers, after a few moments of silence.

 

“She’s the daughter of Dean’s friend,” Cas says, obviously taking care not to move his face too much, which Claire appreciates. “We offered to watch her for the day; take her to this festival.”

 

“Well, it’s totally kid friendly,” Claire says with a small scoff. “I should know, I spent the whole morning setting up most of the booths.”

 

“You didn’t have help?”

 

“Well, sure, but most of the people in Key Club are idiots, so I had to do everything myself.”

 

Cas’ eyes narrow. “Key Club?”

 

“The organization putting on this festival.” She gives him a look. “How else did you know this festival was happening? There’s posters all over town.”

 

Shrugging, Cas says vaguely, “Dean knows more about it than I do. He…” He stops, frowning down at the ground. “He organized the trip.”

 

“You guys aren’t from around here?”

 

“We’re visiting. From Kansas.”

 

“Oh.” Claire switches to black paint for the bee’s stripes. “You know, I wouldn’t have even done this,” she says with a sigh, the man’s silence making her feel chatty, “but if I want a shot at college…”

 

Cas’ eyes widen and he nearly messes up the in-progress bee on his face when he turns his head suddenly. “You’re applying to colleges?”

 

Claire blinks. “Uh. Yeah?”

 

Smoothing his shirt with unsteady hands, Cas shakes his head, as if to clear it. “I just… That’s — that’s a good endeavor. College.”

 

“What, are you an expert?” Claire snorts out.

 

“I’ve never attended college.”

 

She mentally smacks herself for being a sarcastic dumbass, _again._ “Sorry,” she mutters, turning away to dip her paintbrush into water.

 

“Don’t be,” Cas rushes to say, shaking his head. “It’s no detriment to me. I work at Dean’s mother’s bookstore; I have a good job.”

 

“So, you’re saying, college isn’t important.”

 

Cas sighs and gives her a small smile. “You’re still very stubborn.”

 

“‘Still’?” Claire repeats, feeling that weird sensation that he really _does_ know her, and she tries to access her memory to solve it, but she comes up blank.

 

“Uh.” Cas clears his throat. “What made you decide to go to college?”

 

She shrugs, letting the conversation turn away from the awkward moment. “I was against it for a while, but this past year, I dunno. Classes got more interesting and it seemed like a good thing to try. I guess.”

 

“What do you want to study?”

 

“Psychology,” Claire says, “if I’m smart enough for it.”

 

Cas’ eyes seem to soften. “You are.”

 

A frown crosses over Claire’s face, and she wonders how the hell he would know — but he seems so sure about it, that she doesn’t push it.

 

“Regretting the bee yet?” she asks him, trying to veer the subject into something less personal.

 

Cas lets out a soft laugh. “I think Lacy will enjoy it, and most likely Dean too, so, no.”

 

“That must be love, if you’d paint a stupid bee on your face for them.”

 

“There isn’t much I wouldn’t do for Dean,” Cas agrees, very solemnly, making something in Claire’s stomach twist. But she can’t identify the feeling.

 

She puts a finishing touch on the bumblebee’s antenna before sitting back in her chair, grinning at the sight of a grown man with a bumblebee taking up half his face. “All done! Want a mirror?”

 

“I’d rather stay ignorant,” Cas admits with a small not-there smile on his lips, making Claire actually let out a laugh.

 

Dean comes back at that moment, Lacy walking next to him with his hand in hers, a stick of cotton candy in the other.

 

“Dean, really?” Cas asks, his tone a mixture of disappointment and fondness. “She’ll never go down for her afternoon nap.”

 

Dean shrugs. “She’s got me wrapped around her finger, Cas. I just can’t say no to that cute face.”

 

Lacy’s face lights up when she sees the bee on Cas’ face. She points and starts giggling hysterically. “Me next!” she cries out, lifting her arms in the air.

 

Cas rolls his eyes affectionately and bends over to lift her, plopping her into the chair. Claire receives very strict instructions from Lacy to paint a _pink_ flower, not red, and she attempts to paint as clean a flower as she can as Lacy squirms and tells Claire all about her day. Cas and Dean stand to the side, hands brushing at their sides as they have their own private, murmured conversation.

 

When Lacy’s flower is done and she proudly displays it, they give her the proper attention and praise. Dean pays Claire way too much money for the service, and doesn’t let her give him any change.

 

“Good luck with your studies next year,” Cas says as he lifts Lacy into his arms. Even though he’s smiling, his eyes look sad, and Claire can’t figure out why.

 

“Thanks,” she says slowly. “Have a good trip back home.”

 

Cas nods, and stares at her for a beat, until Dean wraps an arm around his shoulders and says softly, “C’mon, sweetheart, time to go home,” at which Cas nods and turns away.

 

Claire can’t explain the twinge in her chest at watching their retreating backs; can’t explain the inevitable smile that comes across her face when she sees Dean kiss the side of Cas’ head, then Lacy’s, making them beam twin smiles at him.

 

She can’t explain why that conversation she had with Cas made her feel like she’s had it hundreds of times before.

 

Shrugging, she cleans up her table, getting ready for the next round of people. Even though she can’t explain all these things, she feels an undeniable warmth in her chest for the rest of the day.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe this is done I am actually getting emotional OKAY so guys. from the bottom of my heart. whether you commented on every chapter, or if you've been silently following this story, or you've just jumped on board to read the epilogue - HOWEVER you're reading my work, thank you, so much. my heart literally soars when i get a comment, or someone leaves a kudo, or i see someone else subscribing to my work. I can't believe how many of you have gone on this journey of me writing my first (!!) full-length fanfic. So seriously, thank you. If I could invite you all to my house and make you a huge meal and give you lots of cookies, I totally would. I wish there was a way I could properly thank each and every one of you. 
> 
> It makes me really sad to see this fic finish. If you guys liked it and want to help me out promoting it now that it's complete, please consider reblogging [this link on tumblr](https://wanderingcas.tumblr.com/post/163099970669/passing-ships-now-complete-when-castiel-commits-a). No pressure though, obviously. 
> 
> I love you all<3 I hope to see you during my next fic.
> 
> [also, there's a sequel in the works for this particular verse. watch this space.]


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